


Are You Okay?

by excuseme_howdareyou



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Dick's A+ brothering, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Here there be murder, Hurt/Comfort, I believe in a proper buildup, I'm serious when I say slow burn, It's a clusterfuck - Freeform, Jason Todd Has PTSD, Jason Todd Has a Bad Day, M/M, Murder Mystery, Secret Organizations, Slow Burn, There may or may not be a cult, Tim Drake Has a Bad Day, and I mean it, difference of opinions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-02-07 06:08:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 56
Words: 178,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21453262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/excuseme_howdareyou/pseuds/excuseme_howdareyou
Summary: Chased out of Gotham by his own family, Jason vows he's done with the family. For good this time, and he's never coming back. At the same time, something new moves in Gotham, slowly but surely it grows. Reaching into every crack and crevice of the city, no one realizes until it's too late and Gotham is broken down to its very core.When Tim meets the Battaglia Clan, all he knows is this: Gotham will never be the same again.
Relationships: Jason Todd/Original Female Character(s), Tim Drake/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 165
Kudos: 249





	1. Prologue: One Hell of an Opening Number

Prologue: One Hell of an Opening Number

If Roman Sionis could sneer, he would've. As it was, his teeth were already bared back in a creepy resemblence of a grin. His tone made it clear that he was taunting them. "It's nice to finally put a name to that mug of yours," he said to Jason," You're a hard man to find as the Red Hood. Even harder to find you as little ol' Jay."

  
If he was hoping for some sort of reaction for using Jason's real name in front of a supposed 'civilian', he didn't get it. Jason glared up at Roman while Brucie over there did his very best to act the scared, confused civilian. To his son, he just looked bored. 

"You know, you really should be more careful what pictures you post online," Roman sounded almost giddy," Just anyone could go on and run a quick facial scan. Ah, don't you just love social media?"

  
Fucking social media. Bruce tried very _very_ hard to not turn his head and glare at Jason. Seriously? He had posted pictures of himself online, enough to reveal himself as Jason Todd? He taught him better than that! At the very least, he should've used an alias...

  
_Oh_...

What felt like a lump of dry ice fell into his stomach and Bruce went pale. How long until Black Mask connected the dots and realized that Bruce was Batman? It was a poorly kept secret that the Red Hood was the Batman's wayward son; it wouldn't take a big leap to connect him to Bruce Wayne.

Was that why Bruce was taken hostage too? Knowing he was Batman and betting that he couldn't fight back in his civilian persona?

  
No, that didn't make sense. Black Mask's people hadn't been prepared for Bruce to be there. They had actually seemed surprised. Since then, Sionis had only spoken of him in the capacity of ransom, nothing more. 

  
No, Roman Sionis' entire focus had been on... Jason.

  
"-think you could do that for me?"

  
Damn, what had he missed? Bruce cursed his moment of disassociation, though he felt justified in blaming it on the concussion. Things had been a little fuzzy since waking up in this warehouse. 

  
To whatever Roman was asking of Jason, well... Jason's answer was a heartfelt," Go fuck yourself."

  
Sionis' tone fell flat; he was done playing games. "I don't think you quite understand the position you're in," he spoke lowly, moving his face in close to Jason's. Jay stared him dead in the eye, silently daring him to be the first to blink. But Roman was the equivalent of a skeleton and didn't need to blink. "You hero types always wear those masks for a reason. I know who you are now, which means..."

  
Jason bit his cheek in frustration. Bruce wondered what Sionis' was getting at. 

  
A metal clang caught his attention, and he glanced down. Was that?... it _was_. There laid a hammer between Jason and Roman, dropped there by the latter. He hummed and said cruelly," Now I know Jason Towers' weak point."

  
A beat passed, just long enough for Bruce to think,' _Towers?'_ and then Jason **roared**. The yell he let out was near animalistic as he threw himself at the end of his chains. The wall they were chained to shook, _actually_ shook, at the force which Jason pulled at the anchors. The suddenness, the severity, the pure unadulterated _rage_ of it was... almost terrifying. 

  
**"I'll kill you!"** the snarl that came out of Jason's throat almost didn't sound human," Don't you fucking dare! If you touch one hair on their heads, if you go anywhere _near_ them, I'll fucking kill you."

  
He sounded like he truly and actually meant it. Bruce feared he did. "It'll be slow, and I'll make it the most painful death imaginable," Jason promised, eyes never leaving Roman's face even as his shoulder bent at an unnatural angle from all his pulling. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Bruce wondered if Jason was trying to dislocate his own shoulder and if he even _felt_ it. He didn't look he did. "When I'm done, you'll be _begging_ me to kill you."

  
Roman's eyes crinkled in that way that said he was smiling. "Ooh, testy," he chuckled and stood up, well aware he was out of range of Jason's hands," Don't worry. I'll keep your little family safe for you - in an undisclosed location of course."

  
_ 'your little family'_   
_ 'little family'_   
_ 'family'_

  
The words echoed around in Bruce's head. Horror crept up into his throat, choking any breath he might've taken. A... family? Jason had a family? And Roman Sionis had-

  
_ 'Oh shit,'_ Bruce thought. Suddenly, Jason's fury made a lot more sense. 

  
Reveling in the growing horror and fury on both their faces, Roman straightened his tie nonchalantly. He told Jason," All you have to do is follow some orders and before you know it, you'll be back in your little loft in Park Row. Who knows, you might even land that brownstone you've been eyeing in the Narrows."

  
Bruce was already putting together a plan or five, a few to get out of here as quick as possible, another to go on to save Jason's family, and one to have a _long overdue talk with his son_. When Jason's stillness caught his attention, he was already four plans in. But it was... odd. Just a moment ago, Jason had been practically chomping at the bit. Now he sat unnaturally still, head tilted ever so slightly, eyeing Roman the same way Tim eyed a particular piece of machinery. 

  
Jason was thinking, recalculating. Something Roman said hadn't matched, something stuck out to Jason, and Bruce desperately wanted to know what. 

  
Not knowing the significance of Jason's abrupt silence, Roman walked away from them, tossing a wave over his shoulder. "I'll give you some time to think it over," he called behind him," I think it's time to introduce the kids to Uncle Roman. We'll be spending a lot of time together, now with their mother dead."

  
Loud laughter interrupted him.

  
It was tinny (coming from speakers then) and originating from at least three separate directions._ 'Multiple speakers?'_ Bruce wondered. But where exactly, he could not tell. This warehouse was made of metal and stone; sound echoed off the walls like an opera house and the rafters were dark.

  
The laughter continued, loud and delighted. 

  
"Who the fuck-?!" Roman shouted out, looking in all directions in attempt to find out whoever it was," What the hell is this?!"

  
"You done fucked up, Blackie," the laughing voice finally spoke, deep and baritone. Bruce did not recognize it, and judging by Jason's expression, neither did he. 

  
"What the fuck is this?" Roman was now looking up at the rafters, correctly guessing that to be where the voice was coming from. 

  
"A message."

  
"Yeah?" Roman huffed, drawing a pistol out from behind his back and pulling on the barrel to cock it," A message from who?"

  
Four voices answered him in unison," The King."


	2. One Bad Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Like most bad nights in Gotham, it started with an Arkham breakout.

Chapter 1: One Bad Night

"I could probably use some help rounding up Crane before he has a chance to make a mess of things..."

Tim Drake was a menace and he knew it. Behind that stupid black cowl laid a fucking brat, evident in the cheeky smile on his face. Jason huffed at his sly tone. "That's a bold faced lie," he pointed out," You can run circles around the guy all night and we both know it."

Tim shrugged, not really arguing. "Just thought you'd want in on this Arkham breakout," he commented," If you want to get back in Batman's good graces, it might be a good idea to help round up the escapees."

The reply he got was a long, overexaggerated sigh. "You start _one_ little gang war..."

"And kill a bunch of police officers."

"They were Untitled! They weren't even human."

"Yeah, well B still views it as killing," Tim said dryly. Honestly, he felt the same way Jason did about the matter. The Untitled _weren't_ human, just masquerading as it. He still wasn't sure what exactly they were -Jason had only told him the bare minimum when explaining the situation to Tim- but from what he's seen, killing those things really had been for the best. Now if only he could get Bruce to see it that way. 

Not that he was going to stop bringing up the memory of seeing Jason and Tim covered in blood anytime soon. It hadn't really helped either that in order to get Tim to help him, Jason's _brilliant_ idea had been to kidnap him. 

Yeah, bright idea there, Jay.

"Help me put away the Riddler," he bargained," Prove to B that you still want to do what's right for Gotham."

The sigh was even more exaggerated this time. "Fine! I'll play nice tonight." He sounded like it was _such_ a hardship.

Tim tried to hide his self-satisfied smile, but really this was just all so amusing. "Yeah, laugh it up, Pretender," Jason said," Can I at least have a challenge though?" He crouched down next to Tim where he was zipping through his wrist tablet," Can we take Mr. Freeze instead?"

"Batman's going after him," Tim replied and well... that answered that," Nightwing's handling Two Face if you want in on that."

Considering that the gang war Jason started (it was so nice to just sit back and watch the three gangs take each other out for him) was in Bludhaven, _no thank_ _you_. Jason said as much and Tim snapped back with," Then tough luck. Help me with Scarecrow or sit here on a roof playing Candy Crush on your phone."

_'Excuse you, Candy Crush is an excellent way to pass the time,'_ Jason contested in his head. Instead of snarking it out loud though, his response was to put his helmet on. "Nah, where's the fun in that?"

......................................

The dust burned in his nose, his throat, his lungs, but he paid none of it any mind. Dust and rubble and blood. How did this place stay standing if this was what happened on the norm? How could anyone stand to rebuild this after all that? _'Foolish, arrogant, and prideful,'_ he thought bitterly,_' The whole lot of them.'_ This place didn't work the first 38 times, what made them think it would work now?

Gotham would be better by the time they were done with it. 

"Oi, what are you doing over there?" a voice pulled him from his reverie. With eyes more tired than he really had any right to, he glanced over and saw one of the veteran guard's waving at another kneeling in front of a massive hole blown in the wall. The kneeling guard, dressed in the standard Arkham guard uniform minus the hat, turned his head but said nothing. 

Before him laid the body of one of their fellow guards. His face was frozen in a silent scream that would never again make sound and a blade buried deep in his chest. His living brethren reached out and trailed fingertips along his face, gently pushing his eyelids closed. It didn't fully work the first time so he repeated the motion. Then he pushed his jaw closed. There, the forever scream was gone.

The veteran guard (and how sad was it that they considered him a veteran guard when he's only been working here for a little over a year?) approached the younger one with an air of resigned annoyance. "Nothin' you can do for him, lad," he grunted. 

"No," the younger sighed and stood up. He didn't bother dusting himself off. "Not yet, I suppose," he murmured. 

_'Not yet,'_ their third companion thought agreeingly.

**"Systems back online,"** a voice crackled from all their radios, the two youngers quickly reaching to turn theirs down so to reduce the feedback. **"Alarms fully operational again."**

It was the first piece of good news they've had all night. 

The veteran plucked his own radio from his best and brought it to his face. "Backup generators still going strong?" he asked. 

**"Backup and the backup's backup,"** he replied from his end,**" All clear here boss."**

Yeah, but not clear here. The veteran frowned down at the man at his feet; it was never easy when they lost one of their own. "Everyone else accounted for?" he asked. 

There was a chorus of **"Yes sir"s** from other units, the other guards reporting in on their own. Like they'd been trained, they rattled off their units and names, then listed off the 'patients' that were still secure. 

Until one. **"Shit. We've got a problem,"** Mick from Green Ward swore quietly.

"How big a problem?"

**"Killer Croc big." **

................................................

"Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock."

God, could he _be_ any more annoying? Mask or not, that too wide, crooked smile on Crane's face was always disturbing. Right now, combined with his knowing little eyebrow waggle and the enfuriating "tick tock" repeating over and over, Jason was about ready to shoot him in the face. "Any idea why he keeps doing that?" he asked Tim.

Scarecrow slipped nimbly between two pipes, going further and further into the sewer system. His chorus of "tick tock"s echoed behind him. Red Hood and Red Robin trailed after him, first Tim then Jason squeezing through the narrow gap. Red Hood with a little more difficulty, his wide shoulders getting caught on the bricks. ("Don't say a word, Red," he warned.)

"Not sure," Tim said instead, head turning to keep an eye on Crane's fleeing back," He's not exactly... making a lot of sense right now."

Finally pulling free of the pipes, Jason ran after him, Tim hot on his heels. "I got a bad feeling about this," he said as he ran. Up ahead, Crane glanced back at them before turning down another corner. "It's like he's leading us to a trap."

Not that far fetched. It had been far too easy to find Crane and to follow him into the sewers of Gotham. Not easy to catch him, mind you, the little bugger was slippery. But easy enough to keep eyes on him at all times. He was _definitely_ leading them straight into a trap.

"Your helmet filters still working fine?" Tim asked.

"Same as always," Jason tapped the side of his helmet," You should really invest in one."

Tim almost laughed at his teasing tone. "Nah, I'm good," he said and pulled a miniature Wayne-tech gas mask out from his belt pouch," You're the one always getting hit on the head."

"Antidote?"

"Five doses. Always carry them with me."

Jason did laugh at that. "Such a freaking boy scout."

...................................

It was ten more minutes before Red Robin swore quietly in the dark. "Shit."

"Language," Jason found himself saying before turning his head towards the sound of his voice," What's wrong?"

They're well past the sewers now. Metal, brick, and tile surround them and Jason wondered if Gotham once had a deep subway system. It sure looks like it did. There's really nothing for light down here, natural or otherwise, and they're reduced to flashlights. They haven't seen the Scarecrow in at least three minutes. Five more minutes and they're about to call it quits, that they've lost the trail. 

"No signal down here," Tim whispered," I've got nothing on my comms."

Jason checked his own, tapping the side of his helmet as if that would help it. There's nothing but silence. "Same here. Time to turn back?"

"Five more minutes," Tim argued, falling back on their original plan. 

........................

There's an offshoot from the main tunnel, nothing more than a doorway. A metal door that looks heavier than the Batmobile hangs off its hinges. "Looks like it was blown open," Tim commented, one gloved hand reaching out to trace the edge of the door. 

But then Jason saw the dent in the middle. Without a word, he inspected the edges of the door. Just as he thought, no burn marks. Lots of bent metal at the edges and that damned dent in the middle, concaved from the inside. "Not blown," he murmured," Broken down."

Tim blanches, testing the weight of the thing. It's so heavy he can't even budge it, one working hinge or otherwise. "What would be strong enough to do that?" he asked.

Jason can think of a couple things, but they really don't need to be said.Together, he and Tim heave the door so they can catch a glimpse of the other side. It's bare save for a stylized metal 'M'.

" 'M' for Moriarty," he couldn't help but joke. Tim just rolled his eyes and they moved on.

......................................

They're just about to turn back when they stumbled into the bunker. But it's not a bunker, not really. It actually looked like an abandoned subway station. But it doesn't look like any subway station he's seen before. It's old, older than sin, made of brick and bronze and untouched as if no one's stepped foot here for decades. The only thing out of place is the empty elevator shaft in the middle of the platform, ten feet back from the tracks. The elevator itself is torn apart, the metal bent and twisted. 

There's a stylized metal 'M' hanging over their heads. 

"Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock."

Jason doesn't remember more than bits and pieces after that.

...............................................

A roar, deafening and loud. It echoed against the brick walls, against the insides of his head, threatening to make his brain vibrate right out of his skull. There was yelling too, he remembered, but he couldn't tell if it was his own or Tim's.

.............................................

Running. Running running, _so much running_. He's terrified, that much he knew. The roars were still there, the hideous screech of bending metal, and above it all...

_Laughter_.

Crazed, psychotic laughter. Jason shrunk back on himself; it's dark, it's so dark. Were his eyes closed? Were they back in the dark tunnel? Why was it so dark? Why could he still hear that damned," Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock"!?

............................................

Something stung his leg. Just a pinch, a deep poke, and a voice talking fervently in his ear. Jason swung out at it, his fist loose and weak, clumsy in his panic. 

"Whoa! Easy there, Jason," that voice whispered hushedly," Just hang in there. Give it a second. Just give it a second to start working."

The laughter won't stop. It won't stop! Jason can feel the cold, hard brick digging into his back, head buried between his knees and hands clasped over his ears. But the laughter won't stop!

.............................................

Light flashed before him, then the color green. He... hit something. Crashed right into it. Whatever happened, he specifically remembered the pain blossoming on his left side. 

"Jason!" 

That's... Tim. That's right, he's here with Tim. With a groan, Jason heaved himself back up with one hand braced against the wall. There's a roaring, and then he remembered. 

_Killer Croc._

_'How the hell did they not know Killer Croc was loose?'_ he cursed. There's roaring and Tim's shouting and then there's just... not. Jason's heart leapt up into his throat when he realized Tim's shout just... cut off.

Waylon Jones is standing across from him. His eyes are crazed and his mouth snarling. At his feet is a heap of red and black and gold. _Tim_.

Jason remembered reaching behind him. He remembered drawing the pistol. Just a .45, nothing fancy. It won't kill Jones, but it will hurt him. It _will_ stop him. 

Killer Croc's feet are planted on the ground and he leaned forward, a ferocious roar escaping that mouth. Jason lifted his arm, staring down the sights. He sees only green. His finger tightened on the trigger. 

Croc jolted forward, one clawed arm reaching towards Tim. 

Jason squeezed the trigger. 

He saw only red. 


	3. These Tragic Mistakes We Make

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (This chapter was difficult to write. I'm sorry if it seems stilted, I wrote it over and over again from multiple points of view and this was the one that seemed the most fluid. )

Chapter 2: These Tragic Mistakes We Make

_ **"ALFRED!"** _

Jason's roar was almost as loud as his motorcycle.

Alfred looked up in mild surprise; it had been quite some time since Jason had willingly stepped foot on Manor grounds. And here he was. Jason Todd, on his bike, roaring into the Cave at dangerous speeds before screeching to a halt. 

Lying limply along his back, Timothy was bleeding out. 

...............................

"Timmy!" Dick's voice cracked as he ran to his little brother's side. He'd arrived soon after Jason and Tim. Worry had first settled in early this night when Tim's comms went out and Dick had to tell himself over and over again,' _He's chasing Scarecrow and he has his supplies of antidote. He's fine, he's fine, **he's fine**'_ but it did nothing to soothe his nerves_._ And when Alfred had sent out a single message to the rest of them ('Red Robin's critically injured') Dick's fear reached heights he thought he'd never feel again and he _flew_ back home. 

The first thing he saw was the blood. Oh God, there was so much of it. And from so many places. Deep lacerations on his arms, torso, and legs (Dick would recognize claw marks anywhere but from _what_?), his leg bent at an unnatural angle, wheezing breaths -oh that horrifying sound- some nasty injury on his forehead spewing out blood in mass quantities, and then-

-then Dick saw the gunshot wound on his torso...

"Heya Dick," Tim murmured back encouragingly. He was out of it, by a lot, but surprisingly conscious. Dick glanced up and saw Alfred had already hooked up an IV and blood transfusion. Alfred himself was distracted by trying to staunch the blood flow. His hands are red with blood all the way up his forearm.

Dick wanted to help, wanted to save his brother, wanted to do something. "Oh god Timmy..." he felt like crying. 

"What happened?" Bruce was there at his side, practically all but shoving Dick out of the way to get to his boy. Dick didn't blame him, he would've done the same thing. Bruce needed to be... he _needed_ be at his son's side. And Dick... Dick was starting to feel sick, seeing all that red that wasn't part of his suit. 

Off to the side, Damian looked on with obvious worry. 

"He-hey," Tim wheezed, eyes unfocused and looking up at Bruce. His hand reached out and Bruce took it in his. 

Bruce was talking to Alfred, asking what he can do. What they can do. Alfred said something, Dick couldn't hear over the sound of his own heartbeat, thudding frantically in his chest, and then Bruce was tearing his gloves off with his teeth and grabbing for gauze to press against Tim's forehead. 

Dick took a step back. He had to. He _had_ to. Tim was... Timmy was maybe sorta, oh my God, what if he-

Distantly, he knew he was hyperventilating. But this was bad. This was so so bad. What happened out there tonight? "How did this happen?" he started to mumble, unable to contain his thoughts," Tim... What happened?"

"We..." that was Tim's voice, slurred and quiet, but enough for Dick to draw closer to him. Bruce softly hushed at him, telling him to conserve his strength and pressing him back down when Tim tried to lift his head. He gave up and his eyes drifted closed, almost to that sweet spot of unconsciousness.

"Who did this?"

"An'... Jason..." Tim's hand flopped out, as if reaching. Or pointing. 

"Todd?" Damian frowned," He's back in Gotham?"

Dick looked where Tim was reaching and then he saw him.

Jason.

He was leaning against his motorcycle, not even paying attention to them. His head buried in his hands and shaking almost violently. It had been... some time since Dick's seen him... It was not on good terms. 

At the sound of his name, Jason glanced up with guarded eyes and immediately took a defensive stance. Then Dick remembered the gunshot wound in Tim's flesh.

_"You..."_

..........................................

_"You always do this!" _   
_"I can't have a brother who's willing to shoot one of my other brothers!"_   
_"You're not part of this family!"_   
_"Sometimes I almost wish you really **had** stayed dead!"_

Words flew and they cut deeper than any blade could have. Grayson had a temper, Damian knew this. He lost it often, and he lost it in spectacular ways, but this vitriol was... unprecedented. 

_"No brother of mine would be willing to kill as easily as you can!"_

Grayson was shouting. Todd was... not shouting back. That's what surprised Damian the most. They were fighting, that was for sure, trading blows back and forth as if they were fighting out on the streets and not here in the Cave. Pennyworth and Father had barely looked up at the ensuing brawl, far too occupied by their work. 

Damian was no stranger to blood, but seeing the medbay table just red with Drake's blood was... unsettling. 

He turned to watch Grayson and Todd; that was just as difficult to see. 

_"I should've stopped you the first time you started killing again!"_

Todd remained stubbornly silent, watching Grayson with wide eyes and deflecting all of his attacks. If Richard noticed his odd behavior, he didn't show it. "Tim is hurt because of you!" he screamed at him.

For the first time, Todd opened his mouth to speak," I didn't mean to-"

_"Bullshit!"_

"Father..." Damian took a hesitant step towards the bloody operating table," What should I-?"

_'What can I_ do?' He didn't want to admit it, but Damian didn't know what to do. Help them with Drake? Assist Grayson with taking down Todd? Stop the two from fighting? _What_?

Bruce glanced up only the barest of moments. He tried to smile reassuringly at his youngest son, but Damian could see the lie in his eyes. "Damian, grab me some more gauze, will you?" he asked, trying to sound gentle but coming out harsh and impatient. 

It was a simple enough command and Damian rushed to grab more gauze out of the drawer. Bruce threw the blood-soaked ones down on the floor -Damian flinched at the wet splat sound- and quickly took the replacements from his hand. Damian's hand remained in the air, unsure what to do next. "What about Todd?" he asked, unsure. 

Father's eyes glanced at his two fighting sons, then turned to Alfred," Alfred? Did Jason really...?"

From his position leaning over Drake's chest, Pennyworth simply shook his head," If he did, it was a stray bullet. The majority of Tim's injuries came from Killer Croc."

_"-then maybe I should lock you up like the rest of the murderers!"_

There was a sudden crash from the other side of the Cave from where Todd threw Grayson into the side of the Batmobile. By the time they turned to look, he was already straddling his own bike as it roared to life. 

He said something to Dick but the sound of it was lost to them in the din of the engine. Then he sped out of the Cave, the sound of his bike's tires squealing on pavement the last thing they could hear of him.

"Goddamn it!" Grayson swore and jumped onto his own motorcycle. 

"Dick, no!" Bruce shouted, stepping forwards but being yanked back by his own hands pressed against Tim's forehead. A second engine roar echoed through the cave, and then Grayson was gone too.

"No..."


	4. One Way Ticket to Nowhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (To show my dissatisfaction with the previous chapter, here: have another chapter an entire week early)
> 
> When Jason ran away, he fled more than just the Batcave.

One Way Ticket to Nowhere

"Damn it!"

The lamp from the bedside table went flying, crashing into the wall in a glorious explosion of ceramic and glass. It gave him little satisfaction. If he was being honest with himself, it only emphasized the feeling in his chest. Shards laid upon the ground, broken and shattered and sharp, and that's how he felt right now.

Nothing more than broken pieces of glass. 

He'd thought-

Fuck, he didn't know _what_ he'd thought! It obviously didn't matter; it didn't then and it didn't now. _Years._ Years he'd put back into this godforsaken city and this godforsaken family and nothing to show for it. He tried playing by their rules, by _Bruce's_ rules but really he should've known better. Should've known he would never measure up. 

Jason Todd always fucks up in the end. 

He sat down on the bed dejectedly and put his head in his hands. To them, he was still the fuck up, the failure, the _cautionary tale of Jason Todd._ He wasn't part of their family. He wasn't part of anyone's family.

Dick made sure to drill that into his head. 

"Fuck this," he swore under his breath," Fuck Dick. Fuck Bruce. Fuck all of them!" He leaped to his feet, his anger fueling him. With renewed vigor and a plan forming in his head, Jason marched back into the safehouse's living room. He only had a little time before one of the Bats showed up, so he had to work quick. 

He wasn't going back to Arkham. He wasn't. He wasn't he wasn't _he wasn't._

Grabbing his gear bag, he only threw in the essentials. Whatever clothes he had hanging up, the socks and boxers from the drawer, some flashbangs sitting on the dresser. He'd been getting lax in his time back, he realized, hunting around for his phone charger. He should've had a go-bag ready. He _did_, but he'd unpacked it three months ago because he needed toothpaste and didn't want to bother going to the store. 

As he swept the entirety of his bathroom shelf into the bag, he wondered who would come after him. Dick for sure, he'd been hot on his heels back at the Manor. He was most likely frothing at the mouth trying to find him; probably called Arkham or Blackgate already to tell them to ready his cell. Bruce wasn't about to leave Tim's side right now, and Damian rarely -if ever- left Bruce's shadow.

Jason blanched. God, he hoped they didn't send Cass after him. Any of the others he could handle, but he'd heard and seen enough to seriously doubt he could go toe to toe with _Cassandra Cain_ and win.

All the more reason to get out of here as fast as he could.

Since he was already armoured up, the last thing he grabbed was a handful of billstacks from his safe. The rest and the fake ID's and passports he left behind. He didn't care about it. 

He didn't care much about anything really. 

So much so, that five minutes later he watched it all burn. The place had been a dump anyways, ready to fall down around his ears. It had been condemned by the city years ago, they just never got around to tearing it down. They'd probably thank him for burning it down. 

He was gone before anyone could respond to the fires, slinking back into the shadows. He just needed to make one quick phone call.

"Hey Roy? How do you feel about taking a trip?"

.................

He'd always wanted to take a train. It was an honest surprise he hadn't before now, what with all the globe trotting he's done. Planes and spaceships were just so much faster. But Jason didn't have a plane or a space ship this time, and he didn't have time to bother with a commercial flight. Not that he wouldn't expect Bruce to not be keeping an eye on the airstrips. 

He didn't even care where he went, he just needed the first train out of Gotham. Wherever that ended up being, he'd tell Roy to meet him there then. 

So that's how he found himself sitting in a mostly empty Gotham Central Station. Luckily it was late -really late- and the lady at the kiosk was tired so she didn't even look at his fake ID before printing off a ticket. Jason himself didn't even look where it was for before he took it. 

But he says mostly empty station because there was one other person waiting on the platform. A young woman in a red sweatshirt and sensible sneakers sat just a few chairs down from him, seemingly engrossed in a book. She and Jason exchanged glances when he sat down, blue eyes meeting brown in a silent trade, sizing the other up. Or at least that's how Jason interpreted it. There was no expression on her face, just a cool calm gaze that felt like it was reaching into the depths of his soul. Jason didn't say anything, just sat down and tried to ignore her. He was a little unnerved by that look and hoped she wasn't the inquisitive type. 

He supposed his nerves were just raw and he must be imagining it. Ten minutes in total silence and she hadn't uttered a single question or comment, so he thought it safe enough to sprawl out in his chair and prop his feet up in the seat across. His chest felt tight and sore, probably an aftereffect from Croc's tender loving care. Nothing felt broken though. And he had time to kill before his train left. So he busied himself with playing on his phone and very specifically didn't think of any Bats. 

Ten or so minutes after that, out of the corner of his eye he saw the woman put her book down. Looking without looking, he saw her open her mouth as if to talk to him. But didn't say anything and picked up her book again with hesitance. Changed her mind again and down the book went. Had he been in a better mood, he might've found her indecision amusing. Right now though, he just found it annoying. If she was going to be nosy and ask questions, then she should just ask them. 

A deep sigh instead, as if to resolve herself to speak, and then," Hey." A soft call, not demanding, just a noise to gain his attention. Jason gave a huff and tilted his head up to look at her. He was able to get his first look at her and wow, that sweatshirt made her look pretty damn small. "Do you mind if I put some music on?" she asked, voice low and steady. It reminded him of something, but he couldn't tell what. "I don't have my headphones with me."

"Nah, it's fine," Jason replied. Alright, this question he didn't mind. The silence was starting to get to him too. 

With a quick, shy smile she pulled out her own phone. "Any music you'd rather I not play?" she asked. 

He paused; that... was oddly considerate. Seriously? Then he thought a moment and told her," If you play techno or EDM, I will get up and walk away."

She made a face. 

"What?" he asked. 

"Nothing. Just a thought."

_"What?"_ Oh no, please don't tell him that's actually her favorite music. In which case, he really _will_ walk away. 

But then she smiled. "If only it was that easy to scare off all men."

Jason felt a smile tug at his lips and was treated to the mental image of her sitting in a bar with some non-descript guy harassing her. It was too easy to imagine her shoving her phone in the guy's face, blaring obnoxious EDM at full volume. It might actually work. 

He found himself saying," I can't think of anything that'll work better."

"I've found a pterodactyl screech usually does the trick."

"...What?"

Her smile was toothy and feral, like she enjoyed the thought of messing with people. "Are you telling me that if I let out a hideous, dinosaur screech right now, you wouldn't go,' What the fuck?' and get the hell away from the crazy lady?"

Now he had an even _better_ mental image. Jason threw back his head and laughed long and hard. Oh, he had to tell that one to Roy!

Out of the corner of his eye while he tried to contain his grin, Jason saw her own smile lessen and she turned back to her phone. A few press of buttons later and a soft voice soon drifted across the space in a quiet, easy tone. Satisfied with it, the woman picked her book back up and with one last glance Jason's way, she went back to reading.

**Waiting on that morning sun**   
**Soldier keep on marching on**

Not exactly his genre, but it wasn't bad. The only word he could use to describe it was 'soft'; probably why it wasn't his cup of tea. That and the song sounded almost haunted, like it belonged in a drama film or something. 

**Quiet now, you're gonna wake the beast**   
**Hide your soul out of his reach**   
**Shiver to that broken beat**

About half the song passed -and he was just starting to like it- before she suddenly hit the rewind. It went all the way back to the beginning. At the sudden change, he glanced up. She'd put her book down again, and stared at her phone with a concerned look on her face. Jason thought about asking, but decided it was none of his business. He shifted in his seat; his chest was getting more and more sore. 

They sat for a few minutes more in silence until the music changed. Another quiet song, this time with violins. 

**Throw me up against the wall**   
**There's nothing that could scare me now**   
**Don't apologize, I'm never leaving**

Then out of nowhere, she stood up and walked over to him. Jason almost scowled at her. If she started getting nosy and asking where he was going-

"Are you okay?"

....Huh? 

Slowly, he lowered his feet off the chair and sat up straighter. Those piercing eyes were back, the same ones that made him feel like he was under a microscope. Jason eyed her warily, trying to gauge what she was after but so far coming up short. Other than eyes that made him a little uncomfortable, nothing about this stranger shouted 'Danger!' to him. She was small, unarmed, left her position all sorts of open to attack, and had her hand clasped around her own elbow in a nervous gesture. The other hand was fiddling near her throat, as if unsure what to do. 

"Why are you asking?" he bit the bullet and straight up asked. 

Satisfied that he had replied at all, she went and sat in the chair kiddy-korner to him. Not across from him, he noticed, that would be too confrontational. And not next to him either, that would be too intimate. He noticed she held her book now, untucked from under her arm and thumb skimming along the corner of the pages. 

Her face gave nothing away. "Is it really so bad that I care enough to ask?" she retorted. 

Jason snorted. "What makes you think I need to be asked?" He very specifically did not think about her mention of caring enough to ask. 

"If someone is leaving the city in the middle of the night on the train equivalent of a red-eye flight," she enunciated clearly," It means something wrong."

He wanted to get mad at her. He really did. He wanted to yell that it was none of her business, that he was _fine_ and she should go back to reading her book.

But he was so _damn_ tired and that sounded like too much wasted energy. 

"And why the hell do you care?" he asked wearily.

A smile -small as it was- flashed across her face. "I just do," she answered," Why does that have to be a bad thing?"

"Nothin' you can do 'bout it," he grumbled," So don't bother."

"You'd be surprised. And besides, I've learned that sometimes just having someone to rant to can do wonders." 

Yeah, Jason didn't buy that. "Like I'm supposed to believe some stranger is really gonna walk up to a guy twice her size in a train station with nobody around and just ask him,' Are you okay?' There's no such thing as altruism, chica." He huffed and went back to his phone, intent on ignoring this self-proclaimed crazy lady and her fake altruistic 'caring'.

But she didn't get up and walk away. She didn't sigh and cease the conversation there. She just shuffled in her chair and leaned forward so her elbows rested on her knees. 

"Omnia nos," she said quietly. 

Latin, Jason recognized it. He didn't know Latin though and at the moment he really didn't care. 

"Auxilio aliis," she continued. 

With a roll of his eyes, Jason looked back up at her. Those brown eyes were looking so expectantly at him, as if waiting for him to say something back. "Am I supposed to know what the hell you're saying?" he asked, " Or should I just assume you're summoning a demon or something?"

She huffed out a laugh, but didn't look away from him. "No, not enough people know Latin to know what the words mean. It's my family's motto, _my_ motto. You wanted to know why I care enough to ask you if you're okay? Well the why is all in that Latin."

Jason eyed her warily. "You sound like a fortune cookie," he said after a moment's hesitation. 

It made her laugh again. "A fortune cookie?!" she almost sounded betrayed if it weren't for the grin on her face," That is a centuries old sacred motto, you walnut. Men have given their lives just to hear those words spoken, and you compare it to an American bastardization of Chinese food."

A walnut. She called him a walnut! "Now you just sound dramatic," he retorted, his cheeks suddenly feeling sore. 

"And you are smiling."

Jason's smile dropped faster than he would off the roof of a Gotham high rise. 

Her own smile dropped until it was this sad, unsure little thing. "Omnia nos, auxilio aliis," she repeated," It means 'All of us, helping others'. Because this world would be a better place if people weren't afraid to help others, if they just stopped and took five minutes out of their day to help someone. Even if it's just five seconds to ask a stranger in a train station if they're okay."

"And why should I even bother answering your question, then?" he asked quietly. 

"Because I'm a stranger who cares enough to ask," she answered just as quietly," I don't expect you to answer or even talk to me. I only want you to understand the offer I'm giving you: I can give advice, get involved, or just listen."

This girl was... something else. And Jason wasn't sure if he hated it or not. Absentmindedly, he rubbed at his chest (his ribs must be more sore than he thought, it almost hurt every time he took a breath, as if his lungs were too full) and thought over her words. He was right: she was just a stranger in a train station, who approached him out of the blue and given his luck he would probably be better off getting as far away from her as possible lest she turn out to be some evil mastermind. 

But then again, she was right: the world would be a better place if strangers did care enough to help other strangers. '_Omnia nos, auxilio aliis.' _He found he liked that phrase. It really rolled off the tongue there, but more than that, it had _meaning_. Something he felt had the possibility of becoming something more. Something bigger. 

Jason glanced up and found her still looking at him with those weird brown eyes. They weren't cold or creepy or anything. Quite the opposite actually. Jason looked at her eyes and he only saw someone who cared. 

"No advice, okay?" he sighed," And absolutely no getting involved."

She nodded in agreement and made herself comfortable on the uncomfortable station chair.

_'I am so going to regret this,_' he despaired before opening his mouth and speaking. "It's my family, okay? Or well, what _passes_ for family these days; even if they're all assholes and idiots."

She made a sound as if to stop herself from laughing, but didn't say anything. 

"So Idiot #1 did something stupid, like really stupid, and he got hurt. And me being Idiot #2, had to drag his sorry ass out of the proverbial fire," he started," He's okay, by the way. I think... He looked like he was going to be okay when I left..."

Now he felt even more guilt lodge itself in his throat. Jason _didn't_ know if Tim was okay, if Alfred was able to get the bullet out. Ah who was he kidding, of course Alfred would be able to. But would Tim recover? Jason knew he'd lost a lot of blood, how long would it take him to recover from that alone?

He sighed and very specifically stared at the seat across from him. It was bad enough he was spilling his guts out to this stranger; he didn't want to see her judging eyes. Jason got enough of that from non-strangers. "You should probably know that we don't exactly have the best relationship either," he admitted," Mostly my fault. We've fought. A lot. And literally. Kinda like that with everyone actually."

Man, he wished he had a beer right now. Or something stronger than this $3 bottle of water. 

"So I brought Idiot #1 back home to the rest of the assholes, because I didn't want him to _die_, you know. I know we fight, and he should hate my guts, but... he's stubborn and keeps trying to be my br-my friend." 

"And man, I don't know...I guess the idiot's kinda, sorta grown on me." He huffed out a chuckle," Like a fungus." _'That's right, Timothy Drake. You're a fungus.'_

But then Dick... 

Jason winced, just the memory (so so recent) of his words, of his hits, of the look of hate in his eyes... Jason could go his whole life wanting to forget it all. "Then there's Asshole #2," he continued," He'd be Asshole #1 but that's reserved for someone else."

"No, this asshole went and accused me of being the one to hurt Idiot #1. Like I didn't just risk my neck to save him."

Still trying not to look at the stranger (god, what must she think of him now?) Jason stared at the seat in front of him. But his peripheral vision was impossible to block out and he could see her book in her lap. Her hands gripped it and he could see her tiny hands scratch marks into the page ends with her thumb. He almost wanted to stop her; no book deserved that kind of treatment. But it was her book and she could do whatever she wanted with it. 

"He didn't even give me a chance to _explain_. He just... started yelling and said that I'd had my last chance. And then he..."

"Argh!" Jason groaned and threw his head back onto the back of the chair. This really fucking sucked. It really really did. It sucked to talk about - _'too soon, too soon, too soon!'_\- and it sucked to live it, but he'd gotten this far so he might as well finish it. 

"He was going to take me to Blackgate. Or worse, Arkham."

She made the first sound since he began, a short little puff of hair and what sounded to be a growly hrrrn. So she must know about both places' reputation. 

"And everyone else, they just... stood there and let him." And that had hurt most. No one had defended him. Not Bruce who believed in following the facts first. Not Alfred who was elbow deep in Tim's blood. And definitely not Damian who worshipped the Golden Boy and all of his decisions.

"So I got the hell out of there, and I'm not ever going back," he finished, rubbing his eyes (god, he was tired) and grimacing," Even if those dicks pull their heads out of their asses and realize they were wrong, well... I've seen how they really feel."

Neither of them said anything for a long while, the only sound being the music still playing off her phone. Huh, he hadn't even noticed that was still going, quiet as it was. It sounded sad, melancholic even as it shuffled through song after song until it finally settled on one in Swahili. (At least it sounded like Swahili, the only time he's ever heard the language was when Steph sometimes spoke it.)

Without looking up (even if his neck was starting to get a crick in it) he heard the girl across from him stand up. At first he thought she was leaving, going back to her seat or her train had arrived, but then a moment later she plopped into the chair next to him. Something nudged his shoulder. 

Jason peeked one eye open, then laughed. In her hand she held a shooter bottle of whiskey, extended towards him. 

"Read my mind," he accepted it and cracked it open. The stranger smiled amusedly and pulled another bottle out of her sweatshirt pocket. That one looked like schnapps of some sort. Hers she sipped while he downed his in two gulps. 

It burned all the way down, but in a good way. Jason didn't drink much; he hated it most of the time, but for nights like this he felt that he deserved something a little strong. 

"You looked like you needed a drink," she said.

"Do you just carry little bottles of alcohol around with you everywhere?" he couldn't help but ask. 

Yawning (as if she were as tired as him) she slouched down in her chair and took a long sip of her schnapps. To Jason it looked like she was considering her answer. "It was the only kind they sold in the gift shop," she eventually replied," I've been drinking hot cocoa and peppermint schnapps for the past two hours."

"Ah," Jason hummed amusedly," So you're drunk. That would explain why you pressured some guy to talk about his shitty day."

Those brown eyes glanced up at him in mock offence. "I am offended you think that tiny bottle could get me drunk." 

"Then you're just crazy."

"Sanity is boring," she quipped as if she'd said it a thousand times before handing him another shooter bottle. This time it as Bacardi rum. "Now shut up and drink your booze."

He didn't need to be told twice. 

"To shitty days and shitty people," she held up her bottle in a toast.

He clinked it with his own half empty one. "To people we trust and the moment they let us down."

The rum went down easier than the whiskey. It burned but it didn't hurt, hot as it slid down his throat and settled into his stomach like a lump of warm coal. Jason noticed that his face felt warm too; he was just warm over all. Still felt like crap, but at least he couldn't feel the cold anymore. 

The girl shifted next to him, burying her hands in her sweatshirt sleeves and holding the little bottle in front of her. _'Her lips are blue,'_ he noticed off-handedly. "Okay, your turn now," he said, shimmying in his own seat to prop his feet up again," What happened that's caused you to take a train out of Gotham at three in the morning?"

"I'm not actually getting on a train. I arrived a while ago, but all my stuff didn't," she groaned and rubbed her eyes," The idiots in Chicago didn't load my trunk onto the train, so I have to wait for the next one to bring it in."

That sounded like it sucked. "How long?"

She glanced at the little blue watch on her wrist. "Only one more hour to go, thank the gods." Funny enough, she didn't mention how long she's already been waiting for. "Then I can finally get an Uber to my new apartment."

Jason's eyes snapped open (when had he closed them?) in shock," Wait, you're _moving_ here?"

"Mmhmm," she busied herself with the book again, flipping it open and idly turning the pages back to wherever she left off. 

_"Why?"_

Why on earth would anyone willingly want to move to Gotham if they weren't from there? Jason couldn't understand it. And when she gave him _that_ look, it seemed she didn't want him to either. "I have my reasons," she said. 

Whatever they were, Jason doubted any of them were worth moving to the most crime-ridden city in the all the U.S. It was different for him. He was from here. He loved Gotham and it's people and just the thought of leaving it now made him feel sick to his stomach but this wasn't something he had a choice in and he had to do it and-

"I think I'm gonna like it here," she murmured.

"Yeah, you're officially a crazy person," he mumbled back.

....................................

His departure time was 3:30AM and his train had just pulled in to the station. They had spent the last fifteen minutes talking about anything and everything, and nothing of consequence. Her book was a point of conversation (Jason couldn't believe this was her first time reading Conan O'Doyle) as was the music that kept playing and the languages they both could understand. ("How do you speak Italian, but not know Spanish?" he was just confused. In her defense, understanding it was easy but ask her to speak it and she'd be lost.)

So at 3:20, Jason's train had arrived and it was time to go. As he stood up, he both heard and felt his back crack at least five times. _'The body of an old man,'_ he thought grumpily. He swung his bag over his shoulder and fumbled over how to tell his temporary friend thanks for keeping him company. 

"Wait one sec," she suddenly reached for his hand. Her other hand tugged at her hair and it was only then that Jason realized the chopsticks holding her hair up were actually two pens. He watched as warm brown hair tumbled down past her shoulders. It was a little distracting, and it was a moment later that he noticed she was writing something on the back of his hand. 

"If you need someone to rant to again," she finished, capping her pen again. 

She'd written her number on his hand. 

"Uhh," he wasn't sure what to say," Thanks?" _'Thanks?'_ he yelled at himself,_' Smooth, Jason, real smooth.'_

Maybe he wasn't as awkward as he thought, or maybe she found it cute, but either way she still gave him a little encouraging smile. Eh, if she called him out on it, Jason decided he would claim exhaustion. Because he was. Exhausted, that is. At this moment, he was just so tired and exhausted and he didn't trust himself not to say something stupid, so he just gave a two finger salute and walked off backwards. 

Just as he was about to board, he heard a, "Hey!" and he leaned back out the door to look. The stranger was still standing on the platform, hands cupped around her mouth as she-

-as she let out the most atrocious, horrifyingly _bad_ pterodactyl screech he'd ever heard come out of a human being. 

Jason doesn't remember the last time he laughed that hard.

.....................................

His laughter had been worth it.

She stood on the platform , smiling wide as his laughter echoed all the way up the stairs until the door shut behind him. 

Had he turned back, he might have seen the smile slide off her face the instant the train started moving. He might have seen the way her grin dissolved into a grimace of pain as her fingers curled around her collarbone and her fingertips pressed down down down until she could ignore every other pain.

And had _she_ turned back, she might have seen the shadow detach itself from the rest of the darkness and disappear back into the city. 


	5. Look at What You've Done

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick returns empty handed.

The Manor was dark and quiet when he returned at 4:07AM. Dick was tired. Tired and exhausted and all he wanted was to go to sleep, wake up, and find out it was all a dream. But it wasn't. It really wasn't and he knew that. 

He was rarely so lucky.

He also knew that was Alfred's signature I-am-disappointed-in-you stare when he parked his bike in the Cave. It was accompanied by Barbara's You-should've-known-better frown. Dick frowned in response, confused by the reception he was getting. Slowly, he got off his bike and took in the signs. Why was Babs here? When did _she_ get here? And why were they looking at him like that?

"You didn't take your earpiece," Barbara said flatly, not explaining why both of them stood in the Batcave like a pair of looming Batmen.

"I was in a hurry," Dick countered. Jason had run out of here so fast that all Dick had had time to grab was his escrima sticks and a bike. He'd lost him somewhere over the Sprange Bridge and by the time he got to Jason's safehouse it was clear it'd been abandoned for months. Then there was a series of fires in the Bowery and Dick suspected arson. The buildings had been empty, condemned by the city, and no one had gotten hurt. 

Barbara's frown deepened. Her fingers were tapping at the wheels of her chair; never a good sign. "Chasing Jason..." she clarified. 

He opened his mouth to tell her how that plan ended, that he had been unsuccessful, when Alfred spoke up," We were trying to contact you, Master Richard, to inform you of the situation."

_'The situation?' _

"Tim!" he scrambled away from the vehicles towards the medbay," Is he... is he okay?" What a stupid question. Of course he wasn't okay, he'd been _shot_! "Did he get worse?"

Alfred held up a hand to stop his slew of questions that was no doubt coming. "Master Timothy is stable and resting in his room," he said. 

"But he was shot-" Dick chewed at his lip, remembering the sigh of that bloody hole high in Tim's chest. 

"In his shoulder," Alfred continued, calm as ever," The bullet missed all major organs and arteries and though the blood loss was substantial it was not life threatening. Master Jason got him here in time."

Dick flinched at the sound of Jason's name. He still felt sick to his stomach, thinking about how Jason _shot_ his own little brother. _Again_! "It still doesn't excuse what he did," he seethed," If Jason hadn't attacked him in the first place, Tim never would've-"

"Richard Grayson!" Barbara yelled, her voice echoing loudly in the Cave. He froze like a deer in headlights. "Do you have any idea what you've _done_?!" she screamed at him. She never moved from her spot, but the way she yelled at him made him feel like he was being advanced on by a giant. Her fingers, previously tapping, now clenched around the sturdy metal of her chair. "You didn't stop and think," she berated him," You didn't stop and _listen_."

..."What are you saying?"

"Jason didn't hurt Tim. _He saved his life._ And you just tried to put him in Arkham for it."

..........................................................................

A half hour later, throat and heart and eyes raw, Barbara couldn't take it anymore. Her anger at Dick, her empathy for the soul-crushing _guilt_ on his face, her trepidation for Tim's reaction when he woke up and found out what happened, her feelings of helplessness; they all tumbled around inside her until it all threatened to make her numb. And she didn't want that. She didn't want to become numb. She didn't want to become Bruce. 

"I need..."_ '...to get out of here,'_ she shook her head and looked pleadingly at Alfred," I'll be upstairs." Alfred nodded in understanding, standing vigilant at Dick's side, crumbled up in a heap of guilt in a chair. How Alfred did it, Barbara didn't know. He made his displeasure known, but tried to help Dick come to terms with what he's done and appeared to be completely unrumpled by it all. 

_'Probably has a lot of practice with Bruce,'_ she guessed. God knows Bruce has done some pretty stupid shit over the years and Alfred's kept his sanity. One night of Dick getting in a fight with his brother because of his short fuse wouldn't cause Alfred to run screaming for the hills. 

It might for Barbara though. 

The kitchen was blessedly quiet and some tea was in order. Something to calm herself before she headed home for the night, she told herself. It had been a long night. Longer still, just thinking how Tim was going to handle this. 

Tim forgave easy, he always had. _'A goddamn massive heart,'_ she always knew, but even she had to wonder if this would end up being the last straw. Tim easily forgave those that hurt him... but he held grudges against those that hurt the ones he loved. She's seen him literally hunt people down in his quest for justice. At this point in time, Tim still didn't trust Dick as far as he could throw him; after this he might not even forgive him.

God this was such a shitshow. 

PING! At this point, she welcomed the distraction of her phone. "Hey Cass," she answered," What you got for me?"

........................................................................................

The drive from train station to her apartment was long, tedious and filled with a familiar pain in her chest that for once didn't go away within a few moments. _'This better not be a heart attack,'_ she thought sourly as she watched the city out her taxi window. Taxi, not Uber, because apparently they either didn't drive this late in Gotham or they just didn't drive to her address this late. She was betting on the latter. 

The taxi driver tried making small talk, asking where she was going and where she was from, what brought her to Gotham City at 4 in the morning. She retaliated by looking up some techno music on her phone and started playing it on the loudspeaker. 

The driver didn't talk to her after that. 

If she weren't so tired, she would've laughed at the victory.

They pulled up in front of an old brick building, with even older stairs and an overhang out front that might be either a smoker's shelter or probably just shelter from the rain. The taxi driver attempted to help her unload her trunk, larger than her with only two wheels, but stepped back warily when she hauled it out with only one hand. "I've got it," she told him, deadpan. 

_'Home sweet home,'_ she thought, looking up at the old building and trudged up the stairs. Somehow, despite being so tired, she managed to get all the way to her new place with her trunk full of stuff, up the elevator, and get her key in the lock.

_'Only one lock. I'll need to install more,'_ was added to her mental checklist, and then she finally got to see her new apartment for the first time. It was bare -to be expected- with hardwood floors and walls the color of she-didn't-know-what. It was supposed to be a three bedroom; maybe a bit excessive for just her but she'd need the extra space once she got settled. 

Too tired to check out the rest of the place, she plopped down in the living room with her trunk and bag. She only took the time to pull out her sleeping bag, plugged her phone in, and send out a quick text to her brother. 

_'I'm here.'_

As if he had been waiting for her, the reply came back within minutes. 

_'Then let the games begin.'_


	6. Make Friends or Enemies. Either One

Step one: Make friends or enemies. Either one.

* * *

The sun was shining (not) and she was nice and warm (also not) when she woke up. Oh, and that guy opening the front door holding a baseball bat? He was totally invited _(not!)._

It was the sound of the door unlocking that woke her up, and the click sound of it opening that had her leaping out of her sleeping bag. A middle aged man stood in the doorway just as she flew across the room. 

"Now get ou-wha-" was all he was able to say before she grabbed the bat, twisted clockwise and _wrenched_ it out of his hands. 

"Get the fuck out of my house!" she screamed at him and swung it one handed at his leg. On instinct he raised his arms to protect his face, so the meat of the bat connected beautifully with his peroneal nerve. 

He went down like a bag of rocks. 

He also went down swearing up a storm. The woman stepped back a safe distance but kept the bat aloft. "Who are you and why do you have a key to my place?" she demanded. 

"Because I own the building!" he yelled back at her, trying to make his way back to his feet but his leg failing him," Shit fuck! What did you do to my leg?!" While she watched warily, he pulled himself up and hopped on one foot. Still swearing. "And I won't be 'aving no squatters coming in to my apartments and tearin' up the place!" His face was turning an interesting splotchy shade of red. "You got one chance to get out or I'll call the cops to come get ya!"

Her grip tightened on the bat, going from one handed to two. "I paid my rent fair and square! I won't be getting kicked out of my own apartment!"

A lightbulb seemed to go off in the guy's head. "Miss Bat-a-glee?"

And then she figured it out. This was the owner. This was her landlord. Oh _fuck_, this was her landlord and she just hit him with a fucking baseball bat. Which she quickly lowered. "It's Battaglia, actually," she corrected," _I'm_ Kinley Battaglia. I'm guessing you're Oliver Perez?"

He both simultaneously rubbed the back of his head and his sore leg. Mr. Perez looked just as abashed as she felt. "Um, yeah, that's me. And uh, you're apparently my tenant..."

Kinley grinned. "Not a squatter."

He shot her a dirty look. "Well 'ow was I supposed ta know it was you? You weren't supposed to arrive for another week!"

"I said I'd arrive on May 3rd. It's May 4th."

Mr. Perez paused a moment to think about it. Then let out an emphatic," Carajo!"

Laughing a little, because this would be one hell of a story to tell back home, Kinley handed the bat over to him. "Get your days mixed up?" she asked goodnaturedly.

His answer was a groan and a hand rubbing at his own face. "Got caught up in some Scarecrow gas yesterday. That stuff always messes with your head and then you wake up not knowing what day it is."

Scarecrow gas?_ 'Fear toxin,'_ her brain helpfully supplied. Last Kinley heard, Scarecrow was locked up in Arkham. If her landlord got mixed up in that just yesterday... Looks like she'll have to update her sources. 

"-when Tommy called and said he heard someone creashing into this place at 4 in the morning," Perez was finishing up.

"I was not crashing," she defended herself," I was very tired and hauling a very heavy trunk." Not all that heavy, but it was not a quiet piece of luggage. 

"Me da iqual," he huffed," You're not breaking in and I'm going back to sleep."

Before he could walk -limp, actually- away, Kinley stopped him," Wait. Got a question for you."

"What?"

"Is it okay if I make repairs to the apartment myself?" she asked," Fix it up a bit?"

He shrugged," Knock yourself out. I'll be able to increase the rent to the next person."

"Great! Then I need your to sign this." Imagine his shock when she went to her bag and pulled out a five-page long document full of legal jargon and small-print text.

"Qué carajo?"

Ten minutes later and he was on his way (off to get more sleep and probably a bag of ice for his leg). Kinley, satisfied with the contract, told him," I'll get this notarized and get you a copy," before kicking him out. Oliver Perez was baffled and thrown off his guard (how many new tenants pulled out a legal contract?) and she didn't feel the slightest bit bad about using that to her advantage. 

Because seriously, this place needed fixing up. When she had asked a friend to scout out apartments for her, he warned her this place was a fixer upper. Feeling confident in her skills, she said that was okay. Big lawyer brother Michael was all too happy to provide a document giving her the legal power to do so. Once this got notarized, she'd be able to remodel and repair the apartment as she saw fit. All the way down to the paint color. At the end of the day, should Mr. Perez take a disliking to either her or her choices, he wouldn't be able to hold that against her in order to keep her deposit.

Oliver Perez had actually been all too happy to let her have free reign of the place once he heard what she wanted to fix. It was a nice change, after all Kinley was used to dealing with big name realtor companies and their insistence that their properties be 'oh so cookie cutter' matching. They were always so specific with their appearances and she could only choose from five varying shade of beige paint and don't she _dare_ fix that leaky bathtub! They have a very specific maintenance man that they'll never send and if she touches that popcorn ceiling they'll take it out of her deposit.

(Can you tell she's frustrated with them?)

So it was without an inch of doubt that when Kinley glanced up and saw a nice flat ceiling, she was very much pleased. Not a popcorn ceiling in sight. _'I'm going to paint that fucker.'_

* * *

_'I hate white ceilings,'_ was surprisingly the first thought Tim had upon waking up in his old room in the Manor. 

His second thought was,_' Owww.'_ He was sore all over, and not the kind of sore after a good sparring session but the kind of sore where he got the snot beat out of him and the pain killers were starting to wear off. 

He must have given voice to his pains for there soon was a flurry of activity next to his bed. "Tim!" Dick flailed inelegantly in the chair next to the bed. His phone was tossed onto the nightstand where the video game he'd been playing continued on silently. "How are are you feeling?" he asked. His blue eyes darted back and forth over Tim's face.

"Like I lost a fight with Killer Croc," Tim joked and sat up. Or he tried to. "Ahh," he hissed and fell back down. His chest felt like it was on fire and that stabby sensation in his ribs did not feel pleasant in the slightest. Before he knew it, Dick was hovering over him with his worried blue eyes and hands flitting about like he didn't know what to do with them. 

"You need to stay laying down, Tim," he said," Your ribs are broken and you lost a lot of blood." Tim noticed how his eyes snapped down to his shoulder, where he knew there was another injury _not_ caused by Waylon Jones. Dick stumbled back to his chair once he was sure Tim wouldn't try to get up again. (Not that he had any plans to, his ribs hurt like hell)

Tim turned his head to look around. He was in his room at the Manor, not the Medbay like he was expecting. Huh, it must not have been as bad as he thought. Last he remembered was Jason pulling him onto his motorcycle, his voice a cacophony of worry and fear. ("Don't you die on me, Timmer. _Don't you dare."_)

Guess they got here in time.

"Where's Jason?" he asked, searching. 

Dick's face paled. He looked terrified. 

It was that expression that made Tim's stomach hurt more than the lacerations did. "Dick?" he asked again,"_ Where's Jason?_"

* * *

Kinley Battaglia (pronounced Bat-ahl-ia, not Bat-a-glee, thank you very much) was a firm believer in lists. When she needed something done, she made a list. When she needed to go to the store, she made a list. When she wanted to go somewhere new, she made a list. 

And that is how she found herself in an Italian restaurant making four such lists. The place was mostly empty, not unusual for the morning; Italian cuisine was not known for its breakfast foods. In fact, she had been surprised to find this place open so early in the day. It was sheer luck, walking past it while exploring the neighborhood after visiting the bank.

_'Gotham hours are weird,'_ she thought, notarized papers safely tucked in her bag and a half eaten quiche in front of her. She could hear the waitstaff whispering amongst themselves in Italian. If she looked up quick enough, she could see a face or two peering around the corner.

_"I don't recognize her, do you?"_   
_"I've never seen her before."_   
_"Think she's new?"_

They must be pretty used to their regulars. She paid them no mind and fiddled with her notebook and pen. Right, four lists. One: A list of repairs she needed to make to the apartment. Top item right now was drywall repair and repainting. Something with a little less mold...

Two: a list of supplies she'd need from the hardware store. Priming spackling, putty scraper and bucket, etc etc. Not to mention other tools and hardware she would eventually need. She was planning on making at least one of the extra bedrooms into a workshop. The apartment didn't come with a garage, so she'd have to make do. And if the neighbors got upset with the noise, egg cartons were always an option. 

Three: a list of furniture. Whether to build or buy. Starting with a bed. A bed frame was easy enough, the mattress she could order online and have delivered. But she would need wood for her projects, and lots of it. She made a small note in the margins to look into local construction companies that sold cheap or gave away their scrap material. 

And four: a list of places she would need to locate and familiarize herself with, preferably close to her neighborhood. Hardware store, for one. Also the nearest clinic (as optimistic she was, she knew eventually she would have need of one), grocery store and the like. She would need to get acquainted with Gotham, and all that came with it. That included the politics of the place. Who was in charge? Who should she avoid? How could she contact the police if she needed to? Did they use 911 here? At times Gotham almost seemed a country of its own, she couldn't be sure they had their own separate emergency number. 

A shadow fell over her table just as she was writing down 'Wayne Enterprises' on her fourth list. "Could I get a to-go box, please?" she asked before glancing up. It was the host that had seated her. He was calm and put together, unlike her nervous waiter. 

"Certamente," he said," Anything else I can get for you, signorina?"

"Any chance I could get a dessert to go?"

"Cosa vuoi per dolce?"

She smiled, pleased to hear her native tongue spoken in a proper accent. "Sorprendimi."

* * *

Living here was... she wanted to say 'interesting' but knew that would be putting it too lightly. 'Difficult for a person on their own' would be more appropriate. Being in a new city was nothing spectacular; this was all old hat to her. For the first few days, she followed her lists and that kept her occupied. 

Only for a week or so. Then she had no more walls to paint. 

It was amazing how much a simple paint job could change a place. She stepped back and appraised her living room, feeling a sense of pride and accomplishment. The room itself was still bare (probably would be for a while) but the blue-green walls were gorgeous. _'Like the ocean,'_ she thought, remembering the deep colors of the Caribbean. _'Imagine if someone had eyes like this,'_ she wondered, then realized she _had_ seen that. Her mind flew back to a late night, a train station, and blue eyes that looked too damn tired. 

Huh, she hadn't even realized she'd had his eyes in mind when she layered the colors to get it just right. 

Then the memory of that stranger turned into remembering why he left the city in the first place. Damn, she should've at least gotten his name. Yes, she made a promise not to get involved but that was at the time. Now all she wanted to do was to track down his family and punch Asshole #2 in the face. Idiot #1 would probably point him out for her. 

Fuck, fuck fuckity _fuck_! Her cheek hurt where she was unconsciously biting at it. This was actually starting to piss her off, just remembering the hurt look on his face when he told her and knowing that she couldn't do anything about it. Even now, she couldn't do anything. 

It was frustrating, to say the least. Especially for her who was usually found in the middle of shit like this. To be forced to be outside of the issue was... aggravating. 

Maybe a walk would do her some good?

* * *

Okay, this... this was not what she planned when she went out for a walk._ 'Only I would end up in a bar,'_ she thought, bemused at her own vices. It's not even a good bar too, a dive that doubled as what she hoped was a strip club, smack dab on a road called Park Row. Great, apparently she moved into a neighborhood affectionately called Crime Alley.

But the rum was cheap, the lights were dimmed, and the music wasn't too bad. The jukebox actually wasn't that old, and someone had good taste in music. 'S.O.S.' by Glorious Sons blared around her as she glanced around. Shitty interior and a bartender who looked more to stab you in the eye than serve you a beer. Just for that, Kinley considered ordering an unnecessarily difficult cocktail next.

She was already drawing a lot of attention to herself just by how out of place she looked, might as well earn it. 

She wasn't big and naturally scary looking like half the guys in here. She wasn't weaselish with just a touch of psychotic like the other half. She wasn't scantily dressed and loaded with eyeshadow like the few women she could see. Her mind initially thought '_Strippers,'_ but well... this was Gotham.

Nevertheless, she stuck out like a sore thumb with her sweatshirt and jeans._ 'All I'm missing is a Hawaiian t-shirt and a fanny pack,'_ and she'd have the tourist look down pat. 

When her drink ran dry, Kinley tapped her glass on the counter twice and waved the bartender down. The large black man (she was thinking of calling him Stabby) didn't growl at her this time, but he did give her the stink eye as he refilled her rum and coke. Funny, she just realized he never once asked to see her I.D.

New drink in hand, Kinley leaned her back against the bar and looked around idly. Intently watching the rather amusing pool game going on in the corner, she almost fell off her stool when a Bieber song came on over the speakers. And not even a decent one. As her landlord like to say: _qué carajo?_ Even Stabby paused mid pour. If looks could kill, his glare alone would've set the jukebox on fire. 

For the good of all, she hopped off her stool and made a beeline for the music demon box. With her drink in one hand and a fiver in the other, it really was a public service that she find a new song pronto.

"Hey there sweetheart."

The last time someone called Kinley sweetheart, it was her great aunt and it had been Christmas. This was most definitely not her great aunt. "Not your sweetheart," was all she said, continuing the search through the music selection. 

"Aww, don't be like... like that," the man slurred. Oh great, he was drunk. "Yer-you're awfully pretty," he continued, either not seeing or not caring that she was getting annoyed," Issss a shame yer here all by, by yerself." A really bad drunk at that. 

Kinley sighed and made a decision right then and there. Shitty bar and shitty drunks called for bitchy attitude. "Yep," she replied, popping the 'p' and finally choosing a song. A glance at the man told her he was one of the weasels. Not too difficult, she could handle him. "They still can't find the last man I went to a bar with," she said, still not turning to look at him. (Was it bad that that wasn't even a lie?)

Overhead, the opening chords for 'You Call Me a Bitch Like It's a Bad Thing' played. She liked to imagine there were multiple sighs of relief. 

Oh look, the drunk weasel was actually still talking to her. Ignoring him hadn't worked. 

So, she turned her full glare onto him. Not that it did much good. "I'm jus' tryna be nice," he said, ecstatic to finally have her full attention," I'm a... I'm a nice guy!" He did the classic point to himself thing with both hands while claiming Nice Guy status. "I...I see... a pretty young lady, all by herself and... and lost. And I think mmmmaybe she could use some help or sumthing."

Yeah, or 'sumthing'. 

Now, Kinley was not a naturally intimidating person. She was small and just a touch bit too thin. Angry, she _looked_ about as threatening as a kitten. 

But her voice.... According to everyone, when angry, she _sounded_ like a pissed off Rottweiler.

"Listen here, _bud_," she snapped at him, voice low and firm," I'm not lost and I'm most certainly not looking for any help." The drunk blinked, not sure what to do in the face of the suddenly scary voice speaking to him. "I came here to get a drink, maybe a bottle on off-sale, then go about my night. So if you don't mind,_ fuck off._"

"But-"

"Sit down!" she barked at him, not quite yelling but her voice promising him pain if he didn't comply.

He sat down. 

She stared him down, making her displeasure more than obvious. When she was sure the message got across, Kinley grabbed her drink and made to go back to the bar. But then the idiot started to stand back up," Wait-"

With a move that she and her brother affectionately called the _'Sit down, bitch!'_ Kinley stuck two fingers far down in the crevasse between his collar bones. Drunkie suddenly found himself without the ability to stand up and made to sit back down. But he missed the chair and landed on the floor in a heap.

Kinley ignored his spluttering and returned to her seat. "Can I get my tab and a bottle of Morgan?" she asked. Stabby didn't even glare at her this time. While she signed out her tab, someone took the stool to her right. 

"Well, I'm impressed," he said, certainly sounding so.

_'Fuck,'_ more than ready to tell this new guy to kindly fuck off, Kinley's threat died on her tongue when she turned. 

It was one of the few women in the bar, the taller one with shockingly elegant purple hair. For a moment, Kinley thought she'd imagined the male voice but then she spotted the adam's apple. (Well now that's just impressive if that's the only give away.)

"How do you do the thing to make him fall?" the drag queen (or was he/she trans?) asked, heavily manicured fingers laying on the bartop," You didn't even spill one drop."

No, but Kinley did just gulp the last of it. "What, the Sit Down Bitch?" she replied," It can't do much for someone already standing, but if they're down, it stops them from getting up."

"I _love_ the name. How do you do it?"

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the others watching them. Curious, cautious, and calculating. She saw no harm in showing her/him.

"Just two fingers between the collar bones, then press _down_, not in," she demonstrated on her own neck. Blue-tipped fingers shadowed the movement slightly and Kinley wondered just how soon this move would be used. 

Then those hands waved at her. "I'm Coco, by the way."

"Kinley."

A too wide smile. "Kingly, huh? I like it." Kinley didn't even bother to correct them, knowing they did it on purpose. It was... endearing. 

"Hey, you bitch!" Oh goodie, Drunk Weasel was back.

Coco giggled at the annoyed look on Kinley's face as she stood up to meet the guy face on. "Last warning," she commanded,_" Walk away!"_

He didn't listen. 

Before she knew it, Kinley had a bony but strong hand wrapped around her wrist. She tried a quick pull away but to no use. 

"Hey man, she already-" Coco tried to help, bless her/his heart. But Kinley held up her other hand to stop them. 

"Last. Chance," she warned the drunk. 

He tried to pull her in, presumably for a kiss. Or to drag her off. Probably both. 

_'Watch closely, Coco,'_ she thought. Then she trapped the guy's hand on her wrist, twisted her captured hand so that it was grabbing the top of _his_ wrist. Kinley grinned at him, watching as his brows furrowed in confusion. There were easier, less flashy ways but you know... Kinley believed in teaching lessons.

She _pulled_, fast and hard and down, and he started screaming.

At one point, deep in the pull, she distinctly felt a pop in his wrist and he released her arm. One of her hands -or was it both?- grabbed the back of his head. Her knee came up with equal force to how much she pulled down. His screaming cut off abruptly as his face connected with her knee and he went crashing down. 

"My wrist! My fuckin' wrist!" he howled, rolling around on the floor and cradling his arm," She broke my wrist!"

Most likely. Or maybe just dislocated it. Either way, she didn't care. 

Coco was cheering her on, far too amused. Then Stabby slammed his hand down on the bartop," Alright, time for you to leave."

Great. Been here eight days and already kicked out of a bar.

* * *

"You're a right little fireball, aren't you?"

Out on the street now (at least Stabby had still let her buy the bottle of rum), Kinley glanced at Coco. Apparently the whole scene had been so amusing that she decided to follow Kinley out onto the sidewalk. 

And yes, she. Kinley got tired of guessing and straight up asked Coco's pronouns. 

"Only when I need to be," she grinned back at her, tucking her procured bottle of rum into her sweatshirt pocket. Wouldn't do to also get a public drinking ticket tonight, would it?

Coco laughed delightedly," That was _beautiful_ to watch! Even when you made him fall on his ass. Priceless!"

If she was being honest, Kinley would say he deserved it. "I warned him. It's not my fault he's a stupid drunk." And possibly worse, if he had come across a girl who couldn't kick his ass. 

"Hood wouldn't have warned him."

"Who?"

Coco stopped in her tracks, forcing Kinley to also stop and turn her questioningly. "Did you just ask me who's the Red Hood?" she screeched, somehow looking both horrified and disgusted. Perhaps affronted was the word to use here. 

"Sorry, sorry!" Kinley held up her hands in apology. She recognized the name now, the Red Hood. But wasn't he some big time criminal here in Gotham? "I'm not very up to date with the local masks," she admitted," All I ever hear is Batman this or Batman that."

Coco scoffed, appearing to mollified by her admittance," As useless as he is."

"No, the one who _does_ things around here is Hood." She said it soft, endearingly, using a nickname like he was an old friend. "Everyone knows not to mess with kids or girls when he's around."

Kinley puzzled over this for a moment, her feet resuming their pace down the sidewalk. Red Hood protects women and children? That was the opposite of what the news painted him as. Then again, journalists were jackals and would write up any story if they thought it would garner attention. Suddenly, she felt like she needed to know how the locals actually felt about their local masks.

"Tell me about him, then."

Coco was all too happy to talk, spinning tales about the Red Hood and things he'd done in the Bowery since his debut five years ago. "A duffel bag full of heads!" she crowed, laughing at Kinley's disgusted face," Oh, I wish I could've seen those guys' faces! They got away with so much shit before, it's about time someone came around to deal out some _true_ justice."

It was... gruesome, and far more brutal than she preferred, but according to Coco, it was _effective_. For a time, there had been no dealers anywhere near schools. Kids could move through Park Row unaccosted and make it home safe. Fewer hookers went 'missing' and those that did were swiftly avenged. 

It went off and on like that for the past five years, dependent on whether or not Red Hood was in town. Apparently a lot had happened, with his disappearing for a year or two, then coming back with a vengeance. There was a rumor going around that he now preferred to permanently disable his targets instead, going for the lifelong injuries instead of a quick death. There were a great many tales of bullets in kneecaps, fingers cut off, and one memorable occasion where a serial rapist's dick was cut off. Kinley thought that one might've been greatly exaggerated, but well... a duffel bag full of severed heads said he was capable of it. 

_'Nicolette would've loved him,'_ she mused. His brand of justice was right up her alley. Kinley wondered if she'd ever get the chance to meet him in person.

"So where is he now?"


	7. Just Call Me Dorito

"GET OUT!"

A book went flying out the open door, crashing into the opposite wall and knocking a painting down. 

"I don't want to hear your excuses!"

There was a crashing sound as another book was thrown and knocked some picture frames off the shelf. 

"Tim, I'm _sorry_!" Dick yelled back from within the room," Please just let me-"

"If you were really sorry, you would be out there looking for our brother!" BANG! Another book hit the wall next to the doorway. "And not in here with your stupid ass apologies!"

Alfred sighed, standing just outside the open doorway. He _had_ warned Master Dick. A moment later, Dick stumbled out the room, face pale and stricken. Without a word, Alfred slipped past him with a tray of tea and medicines.

Master Tim was sitting up in bed -earning a frown from Alfred- and glaring at the door as if daring Dick to come back in and be target practice. In his hand he held another book;h the small bookshelf by his bed providing him with plenty of ammunition. Idly, Alfred considered having that bookcase temporarily moved. 

In the meantime however, he simply shut the door behind him. "That is enough yelling for today, I believe," he spoke and placed the tray on the nightstand," You should not even be sitting up, young man, and disrespecting books by throwing them all over the room."

Tim muttered something under his breath. 

"I'm afraid I didn't catch that, Master Tim."

Looking and sounding exactly like the sullen teenager he used to be, Tim grumbled out a little louder," I wasn't throwing them all over the room."

"No, just at your brother."

"Well he deserved it!" Tim shouted while staring at the door, as if yelling for Master Dick's benefit whom they both knew was still standing out in the hallway. He looked and sounded angry and upset and it hurt Alfred all the more to see the wetness in his eyes and know that his anger stemmed from something else entirely. 

"That is quite enough of that," Alfred said quietly, picking up his stethoscope," Now let's take a look at those ribs and see if you've undone all my hard work." The stubborn look look in his eyes told Alfred there was a chance he would argue further, but a firm look quickly put a stop to that. 

So in silent, hurt anger, he let Alfred check him over and resew the stitches on his upper back. And Alfred could only wish there was more he could do. 

...................................

"He'll come around, Dick," Bruce spoke quietly, laying one hand on his eldest son's shoulder. 

_'But should he?'_ Dick thought and pulled away. "Maybe not this time, Bruce," he whispered and felt his heart break all over again," I've really..."_ 'I really messed up this time.'_

And wasn't that the truth of it? He just couldn't do right by his brothers, could he? First Jason when he was a kid, then Tim when Damian came along, then Damian when he was Robin, and again both Jason and Tim._ 'I am a terrible big brother,'_ he thought, then wondered if he even deserved to be called a brother. 

"Tim has every right to be mad at me," he said,"_ I'm_ mad at me. Barbara's right, I should've stopped, I should've just _listened_. Jason was trying to tell me what happened, he _tried_ to stop me and I..." His breath hitched and he whirled around to look at Bruce with red rimmed eyes," I chased him right out of his _home_, Bruce! What kind of person _does_ that?!"

Bruce's hands came down on Dick's shoulders, large, warm, and with a certain steadiness that he's been missing since he was a kid. Bruce had to duck his head to be at face level with his son, but when Dick looked up he found no judgement in his dark eyes. Only understanding. "You were scared, Dick," he told him," We all make mistakes sometimes."

There was a certain tightness in his throat when Dick replied," That's still no excuse. It's more than just..." Then he gave voice to his fear," What if he doesn't come back?"

"He'll come back," there was no room in Bruce's voice for anything other than conviction," Jason always comes home."

_'And if **this** isn't home?'_ Dick didn't dare give voice to that fear.

* * *

The leftover penne carbonara smelled amazing heating up in the microwave while Kinley googled as much as she could about the Red Hood. As expected, it was mostly media drabble, painting him as a crime lord and Batman's enemy. This Vicki Vale could make Mother Theresa sound like a villain. Though she did find Vale's creative writing fun, Kinley got the sense that Vicki Vale was an arrogant person .

Halfway through reading up on the Arkham breakout from last week (seriously, she missed the whole thing because she was sitting inside a boring ass train station?!) a text message pinged on her phone. Assuming it to be one of her siblings, she shoveled a forkful of piping hot pasta in her mouth and tapped on the message icon. 

And promptly choked on her food. 

A picture of a pteranodon loaded with the caption,_" Is this you?"_ Before she could text back to find out who the hell this was, a second picture came through.

Oh... oh gods... it was _him_! The guy from the train station. This was a goddamn selfie, taken in front of what appeared to be a realistic model of a pteranodon. On his face was that same dorky smile he'd had in the train station. She _liked_ that smile, like the little dimples he got when he laughed, liked the warm feeling she got when he smiled. 

It was why she pterodactyl-screeched at him, just to get him to laugh. 

She took a couple deep breaths to calm down and pushed her food off to the side. Kinley hadn't been sure he'd ever contact her after that night, much less a selfie and a joke. But here he was, reaching out after she told him to call her if he needed anything.

_"That's actually a pteranodon,"_ she texted back. 

While she waited for a reply, she looked more closely at the picture. He looked good, healthy and hale. Happier than when she'd met him for sure; the distance from Gotham must have done him some good. The tight grey sweater did wonders for his physique too. (And for Kinley's eyes)

In the train station, his stature had been hard to tell under his leather jacket. But even then, Kinley could tell he was bigger than her. (OMG, _so much_ bigger than her!) And that sweater showed he really had the shoulders to pull it off. 

_'Probably has a dorito chip hip-to-waist ratio,'_ she thought sourly, knowing she'd probably never get to find out for sure. 

BZZT. _"Ah, you're right."_ Then another picture. 

This time it was a full body picture. He was standing in front of a pterodacyl skeleton (was he at a museum or something?) and his expression looked a tad bit disturbed._ "Jesus, this thing could eat me in one bite."_

Kinley laughed at that and texted back,_" That is fucking terrifying."_

* * *

Jason hit send then put his phone back in his pocket. Next to him, Roy was happily looking over his own picture with the pterodactyl. "I think I'm going to caption this as Bleh, bleh bleh, I vant to suck your blood!" he announced cheerfully," You know, because it's called Dracula?"

Jason only offered a grin before moving onto the next exhibit. Roy trailed after. "Aren't you glad I suggested this?" the redhead nudged his arm. 

He wasn't ever going to admit it, but he _was_ glad Roy talked him into coming here. They weren't even supposed to stop in Germany. But when Roy heard about a museum with life size dinosaurs set in the forest? Hell yeah he wanted to go! To be honest, it didn't take much to talk Jason into it either. Just a quick movie night with Jurassic Park and pronto!

When Jason had walked inside and seen the Pterosaur exhibition, he just... out of nowhere thought of that girl from the train station. Then he saw the pteranodon, mouth open a silent screech, and he laughed out loud. Her parting pterodactyl scream, harsh and _ridiculous_ still echoed in his mind, causing a brief chuckle every time. Man, he wished he had that sound recorded. The two pictures were snapped and sent before he even bothered to think about it. 

And how fortunate it had been when he saved her number in his phone? Hadn't really thought about it, just typed the number in and saved it as a blank contact. 

Roy had barely batted an eyelash when he asked for help with the third picture. A selfie wouldn't be able to encompass the sheer size of the centerpiece, and immediately after Roy wanted a picture with Dracula too.

It wasn't until he got his second reply back that Roy peered at him over the top of his phone. "Who you texting there, Jay?" he asked, sounding equal parts curious and wary.

Jason for his part tried to ignore the fact that his phone just pinged. "What text?" he asked innocently. His phone betrayed him by pinging again. "Damn it."

If Roy hadn't been so amused, he might've looked hurt. "Hiding someone from _me_?" he laid a hand over his heart dramatically," Do you think I'm going to scare away your super secret boyfriend?"

Jason's ears turned bright red and he turned away to check his messages. 

_"That is fucking terrifying."_   
_"Thank the gods they're all extinct."_

"It's not my boyfriend," he shrugged and hoped Roy would leave it at that. 

He didn't. "Super secret girlfriend?" An arm slung around Jason's shoulders and he found 185 lbs of archer hanging off his shoulder," And if so: _share_." Jason shrugged him off with a laugh.

"Not a girlfriend either." Then knowing he wouldn't let it go- "Remember that girl I met in the train station?"

If he thought Roy's smile couldn't get any wider, he was wrong. "Pterodactyl Girl? Now I know why you took those pictures," he exclaimed, then gasped gleefully," Jaybird, you sent her a selfie!"

Why that had any significance was beyond Jason. He'd only sent the pictures because the dinosaurs reminded him of her. Later on he'd probably overthink why he kept associating a civilian with a dinosaur when they'd spent so much more time listening to music than one second of a dinosaur screech, but that was for later. For now, what harm was there in a quick text? It's not like it was going to do anything; he wasn't going to give her his name or heaven forbid: _call her_.

He's learned his lesson after Isabela, thank you very much. 

"Pterodactyl Girl?" he echoed," What kind of name is that?"

"It's what I've been calling her in my mind," Roy admitted," You never got her name, did you?"

"Nope." They had met as strangers, talked as strangers, and departed as strangers. Jason saw no need to change that. Like she'd said, there's a certain level of peace in anonymity. Knowing that you don't know and therefore cannot judge or be judged. You were who you were in the moment and nothing more. The past could not taint it. 

"You going to _ask_ her name?"

"Nope." Roy looked like he was about to argue, so Jason explained," It's better that way, Roy. I'm a messed up person, you know that. Look at what happened with Isabela. When I talked with that girl, it was... easier. I didn't have to be Jason Todd or Red Hood, didn't have to think of a lie on the spot to hide who I was, I was just some guy in a train station. She didn't ask questions about me, and I didn't ask questions about her. That's what we agreed on."

The explanation was not lost on Roy, but he looked skeptical about it. "Then why did you keep her number?" he pointed out. 

Truly, if he had wanted all along for it to be just that one night, that one conversation, and to leave it at that, Jason _should've_ forgotten the number written on his hand. He should've washed it off, never thought about it again, and let the memory stay as just that. A memory. But he didn't, and he had no real reply to that except for," Shut up." Because he didn't know why.

Roy was smiling at him like he knew something he didn't and he wasn't about to share. Which: hypocrite.

"Besides, she's in Gotham and there's no way I'm going back there. I'm done with them."

Roy just hummed and nodded, still smiling. 

It was at that moment that they heard the first of the screaming. Followed by the sound of-

"Was that... a roar?" they exchanged confused looks. 

So while people ran inside to escape whatever it was, the two of them ran outside to confront it. And what they saw was...well.... How could he put this?

A rather large, rather life-sized, rather_ real-looking_ Tyrannosaurus Rex was stampeding down the forest path. It roared at the museum-goers and stomped on one of the signs dotted around the park. 

They looked to their left.

A wooly mammoth rampaged through the playground.

They looked to their right. 

A diplodocus knocked down two trees with its tail.

"Umm, aren't those things supposed to be made out of plastic?" Roy asked," Or have dinosaurs really come back from extinction?"

Jason sighed and carefully tucked his phone into an inner pocket. "Grab gear and meet back here in five," he started saying, but then they heard a very distinct screech from the building they just exited.

"Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck." Damn pterodactyls.

* * *

Halfway across the globe, Kinley saved his phone number under the name Dorito Chip and went to bed. 


	8. Divided We Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You will cry.

_"Hey Dick, it's uhhh, it's Jason again. Listen, I know you're probably busy and everything. I just thought I'd maybe try calling you again. It's been... It's been a messed up week and I just...Gah, I'm probably annoying you right now. I'm just, I'm just gonna hang up now."_

**"End of message. To erase this message, press 7. To send a reply, press 8. To save it, press 9."**

Beep.

**"Message saved. Next message."**

_"Hey... Jason again. I'm really... Could you please just pick up **once**? You said to call you if I ever needed to talk and well I need to talk, man. But you're always busy and not answering your phone and Bruce won't even **look** at me and I just... I don't know how much longer I'm going to be here. I messed up, Dick. Big time. And I know you hate that Bruce made me Robin and I just wanted to let you know that, well... I might not even be Robin next time you come around. So... yeah... I'm gonna... hang up now."_

**"End of message. To erase this message, press-"**

Beep.

**"Message saved. Next message."**

_"This is the last time, I swear. I'll... I'll still have the phone so if you want to call me back, you can. If you don't, that's... that's okay too. I just... thought I'd try one last time, see if you weren't busy. I don't know if I'll have much signal in Africa. Africa, can you believe it? I've never been there before. Never thought I'd leave Gotham, and here I am going to Ethiopia to find my mom. Er, you probably don't want to hear 'bout all that. But in case you do, I'll tell you all about it when I get back. Umm, see ya later, Dick."_

**"End of message. To erase this-"**

Beep.

**"Message saved. End of old messages. To return to main menu, press-"**

He pressed to end call and the room fell silent once more. Dick sat on the bed in what used to be his old room. Well, not his old old room, the one that later became Jason's, but the old guest room that he'd taken as his own when he came back to the Manor. He didn't stay here as much anymore, not since Blüdhaven was rebuilt and he went back, but Alfred always kept this room clean and aired out for the off chance that Dick would come visit.

This was the first time in months he's been back for more than just a weekend.

It was only supposed to be a weekend visit...

And now here he sat on the bed in what used to be his room, with his head hung low and his old phone loose in his hand. 

He didn't bother to wipe away the tears.

* * *

The thing's been there for so long that at this point it was another part of the background. If you didn't stop and look at it, didn't stop and read the plaque, you would think it just another piece of memorabilia in a cave full of memorabilia.

And when someone else stopped to gaze at it, you'd notice it then too. 

Damian paused on the stairs, eyeing the dark male standing in front of Jason Todd's memorial and looking up at it like it could start speaking back. Of anyone, he would not expect Duke Thomas to be prone to standing before Todd's old suit. Father, plenty of times when he thought no one else was in the cave. Drake spent a considerable time in front of this case as well. In the past week, Grayson could be found staring at it from across the room when he supposed to be working. 

To see Duke standing there the same as them was odd, to say the least. 

"I can see why he hates this thing, you know," Duke suddenly spoke, glancing up to lock eyes with Damian. Unlike Damian who felt annoyed at having been caught staring, he did not seem to care that he himself had been caught staring at a glass case. Since he'd already been addressed, Damian continued descending the stairs until he stood beside him. 

"Has this really... been here this whole time?" Thomas asked. 

Damian shoved his hands in his pockets. "According to Grayson, Father set this up shortly after Todd's death. As it's in front of you right now, obviously it's remained here since."

"It's weird, you know," Duke murmured, looking up at the empty lenses of the mask," I know he's alive. But with this thing here it's almost like he's not."

"He's not dead," Damian pointed out haughtily," Or have you already forgotten that hideous red helmet he wears around everywhere?"

Despite his harsh tone, it still drew a smile out Thomas. "Can't really dis the red helmet," he grinned," I've got a yellow one." Damian's lips pursed, looking as if he wanted to start insulting Duke's helmet too.

"But it's still kinda messed up though," he interrupted him, looking back at the memorial.

Damian paused at the strange tone in Thomas' voice. "How so?" he can't help but ask. 

His responding shrug is less than helpful. But then his words explain it all. "He's not the only who died," Duke said. He glanced at Damian," I mean, yeah Jason died, but he came back. And so did you. You died too. And Cass. And Dick faked his death. And Tim was presumed dead too, for a whole year."

_'Where are you going with this?_' Damian wondered. 

"So why is this the only memorial?" Duke asked," Why is there only this giant funeral piece for Jason?" He waved a hand at the large glass case. "Why does Bruce keep this thing around, as if Jason's still dead? Shouldn't the rest of you have your own weird, memorial piece laying about somewhere too?"

The unspoken words were right there._ 'Why has Bruce accepted that the rest of them are all back, but still acts if Jason is dead and gone?'_

And Damian doesn't have an answer for him.

* * *

It took him five days to find this one. It was nothing more than a studio apartment in the Lower East End, just big enough for a futon and a table. Inside was impeccable, same as the other two, just sitting and waiting for its inhabitant to return. A fine layer of dust coated everything. 

The name on the lease was Edmond Dantes.

Tim knew that Jason liked to use literary characters as his occasional alias'. It was something he inferred from Jason's love for books. Of the five safehouses he's found, three of them were listed under Edmond Dantes. Tim could see the poetic justice in it. (He swears though, if he finds one under the name Gelert, he's going to scream.)

But this one was just as empty as the last. A single made bed, an empty kitchen table, and non-descript jeans and t-shirts in the dresser. A slow inspection of the cupboards showed some canned goods like beans and soup. He wondered if Jason ate takeout as much as he himself did, or if he actually went grocery shopping whenever he stayed in one of his safehouses. 

"Tim."

Tim shut the fridge harder than strictly necessary. Behind him, Dick did not flinch at the action, but it was a close call. And when Tim turned around to look at him, he tried to not let the blank look on his brother's face get to him. Tim only got that look on his face when he was choosing not to show his emotions, when he was going up against an enemy and did not want to show his hand. 

Dick couldn't tell if Tim was trying to hide his anger... or hate.

"What are you doing here, Dick?"

"I..." he froze standing in the living room, mouth opening and closing as he tried to think of the right words to say," I was... checking up on you. You're still... you were..." Tim watched with cold eyes as he choked on his words and tried to swallow them down and fail. "I wanted to make sure you were okay," he managed to choke out. 

Tim stared at him a moment more before his lips downturned into a frown. "I'm _fine_, Dick," he said slowly," I don't need you following me around." He turned back around, intent on going through the drawers and hopefully Jason left behind something. A note, a scribble on a post-it, heck even a brochure to some obscure hotel he's been before and might think about going back to in the future. 

Dick did not move from his spot. "Alfred's going to be mad if you rip your stitches again."

"I'm _busy_," Tim snapped at him through gritted teeth. 

"...looking for Jason?"

BAM! The drawer slammed shut, this time Tim not even bothering to pretend he didn't. "At least one of us has to!" he turned and screamed at his brother," You may not care that Jason's gone, but I'm going to find him and I'm going to bring him back!"

"I _do_ care-"

"Then you have a funny way of showing it! You sure as hell didn't care when you thought he was just another street thug that would sooner put a bullet in me than save my life! Well news flash, Dick! Jason's changed, and he's our brother whether you like it or not, and if you can't get that through your head than leave me alone."

"I'm sorry."

Tim glared at him, but that didn't stop Dick. 

"I'm sorry," he didn't mind if his voice cracked when he said it. It needed to be said again. He _needed_ to say it, however many times he could. "I'm so _sorry_, Tim. I know I messed up- no, I _fucked_ up, and I...I drove off my own brothers." His mask started to feel suspiciously wet, so he wiped at his face. 

"God, my own brothers..." He choked out the words, as if only just now realizing. But that wasn't true. It had been all he could think about these past two weeks, watching in agony as Tim got better, got stronger, screamed at Dick every time he even so much as saw his face. 

_He did that_. He drove his own brothers away, drove Bruce into a fit of depression as he grieved the loss of one son and the hatred of another, drove Tim to push himself harder and harder as he came out every night to search for Jason.

Dick had watched from a distance, staying away just as Tim asked. But he was getting worse. He was going out in his jeans and t-shirt, completely forgoing a mask as he wandered around Gotham searching. He wasn't fully recovered yet, having to sneak out every night from Alfred's care, only to return the next morning disappointed and depressed. 

At some point, Dick had to step in. He may not be able to repair his relationship with Tim, but he could still try. 

_"I'm sorry..."_ he whispered, his voice so small.

Tim stared at him, then started to say," I'm not the one who-"

"I know!" Dick cried," The one I need to apologize to is Jason, that I need to tell him-" He hiccupped. Actually honest-to-God hiccupped, and that's when Tim saw he was nearly hyperventilating. 

Dick continued on, not noticing that his words were starting to come out faster and faster, only knowing that with every word he hurt more. "But I literally chased him out of the city and now we can't find him, and you have every right to hate me because he's your brother too. He was only trying to help and-" He hiccupped again, but ignored it. "-and we almost lost you and I got so scared. Tim,_ I was so scared_, and I know that's no excuse but please don't-" hiccup "-think that I'm not sorry. If I could take it back, I _would_."

"I love you, I just want you to know that. I love all of you: you and Jason and Damian and Cass and-"  
  
He was interrupted by Tim throwing himself at him (more like stumbling over across the room and lauching himself at Dick's torso). Gangly, bony arms wrapped around his chest and squeezed tight and Tim's face burrowed into his shoulder. Dick froze, unsure how to react because didn't Tim hate him? Tim hated him and what he's done, that's what he thought. 

"I love you too," Tim spoke. His words were muffled by fabric but Dick heard them all the same. With a hiccup and a sob, he enveloped his little brother into a hug and _squeezed_.

He held Tim tight as he dared, afraid he would pull away or disappear or both. He didn't think he could take it if he did. "I'm so sorry Tim," he cried," I did more than hurt Jason, I hurt you too."

Tim didn't tell him it was okay - it wasn't- just held him back just a tightly. "I'm not saying I forgive you," he said instead," Not yet at least. But I don't hate you, Dick. You're my family too." Dick cried harder. 

Hiccup.

"Dick?"

Hiccup. "Yeah?"

"You're hiccupping."

A small broken laugh bubbled up with the next hiccup. "Yeah, that happens."

Tim wondered briefy if Dick hiccupped every time he cried and he realized he had no idea. He'd never really seen Dick lose it like this before, never seen him break down and let himself cry in front of him. He was always trying to live up to the legacy left to him by Bruce, trying to not let others see his pain, his hurt. Tim knew he was the same way, and wondered if he got that from his own mom, or from Bruce.

But he liked Dick better when he was being himself. When he was raw and genuine and was _honest_ with him. Hiccups and all.

"I'm not gonna stop looking though," Tim told him.

Dick knew. Tim wouldn't be Tim if he gave up that easy. "I'll help in any way I can," he said instead," We'll find him. We will."

And for the first time in a long time, Tim believed him. 


	9. All I Want To Do is *sound of gunshot* BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

**May 4th, 2020**

_"And you're sure it's him?" he asked quietly, eyes never leaving the table. _

_Beside him, his brethren stood with a solemn expression and a white lab coat. "We got the call this morning when they found the... when they found him," he answered," I came down personally to see if it was true."_

_He took a deep breath (gods, he _hated _morgues. They smelled like formaldehyde, they were too cold, and all to often he came down here because of shit like _this_.) and reached one hand out to the white sheet. The doctor tapped his fingers on his wrist before he could lift it. "I wouldn't if I were you," he softly warned," They weren't... they weren't kind to him."_

_For an ER doctor to be saying that... it had to have been bad. _

_"Who all knows so far?" he asked instead, fingers falling away from the sheet. _

_"We haven't contacted anybody yet, you were my first call," the doctor said," But the police... they've made some comments already. Trying to figure out who he is."_

_"Are they correct?"_

_"Not yet. They don't know enough about us to make the connection."_

_"Then let them guess. He served well, and he has made his people proud." They both bowed their heads and muttered an Italian prayer under their breaths. When the one in a trench coat lifted his head, he held a new conviction in his face. "We will have to burn the body," he announced," I will send his effects home to his family."_

_The doctor looked up at him. "And... shall I call _her_?"_

_The other took a deep breath (gods, he hated the smell). "We follow the plan," he said," Burn the body and let no one know we're here. I will inform the Matriarch."_

* * *

**May 15th, 2020**

She'll be honest. Gotham was a tough place to live. It was a unique experience for Kinley, who thought she was well rounded. She's lived everywhere, she thought. Small town U.S.A. with apple pie festivals in the fall; glittering cities where nobody slept and the sound of people was constant; remote forests where the air was crisp and you were so _so_ alone; tropical cities where the local women hated pretty foreign girls and the men loved them. But never has she lived in the nitty gritty, where the air was smoggy and looking over your shoulder was the norm.

Her first brush with petty crime here was a convenience store robbery. 

All she wanted was to buy a case of water (she didn't quite trust the tap water here yet) when she heard the yelling. "Hands up! Back up! Back up back up back up!" a man shouted," Hands where I can see 'em!" There was the unmistakeable sound of a shotgun being pumped and Kinley dropped down to a crouch.

_'Holy motherfucking shit, fuck fuck fuckity fuck,'_ there was an entire litany of swears in her head. Luckily, she was at the back of the store, away from the register, but still in the open areas by the coolers. With only the thought of _'shelter!'_ she slithered over to the aisles and hid by the chips and crackers. 

Up at the front, there was more shouting. Demands, she thought, but her heart was pounding so hard it was difficult to hear over the sound in her ears. There was the distinct thought of _'protect the cashier'_ and before she could think she found herself slinking past the chips and staying low. Somewhere in the back of her head, she knew she was shaking. Her mind supplied the word adrenaline, but at the moment she felt _fear_.

The man -no, a boy, just a gangly little thing- had a gun and as Kinley peeked through a display of sunflower seeds, she saw he has it aimed at the cashier. Her face the picture of terror, her hands were up and her back pressed against the wall. A second robber was digging through the register, shoving anything he could into a backpack.

Both of them are masked, non-descript ski masks and it looked like only one is armed. They're scrawny, probably just teenagers. If she were to somehow distract the armed one -throw a can across the room perhaps?- then she could ambush him from behind and disarm him. Easy. After that, then just a matter of the-

Ka-clunk! "Hands up."

_'Shit.'_ In a much more controlled pace than what she actually felt, Kinley raised her hands level with her head. How had she missed the third one?! She had been watching the front, there were only the two. When had _he_ managed to sneak in? Her hands were shaking still, but now there's a level of anger to it in addition to the fear. 

He's situated behind her, most likely with the shotgun pointed at the back of her head. At the front of the store, the two younger robbers shouted back towards them, wondering if he needs help. He just drawled back," Nah, I got this. Hurry it up over there." His voice was slow and unhurried, like this was a walk in the park for him. "You're not gonna be trying anything, are you Sweetheart?" he asked her. 

Kinley, for her part, was starting to get really sick of that name. She didn't say anything, didn't need to. Still didn't stop him from telling her to give him her wallet. "I only carry my ID and debit card," she told him. It's only a half truth. She does have a wallet, at her apartment. This was supposed to be a quick store run, she hadn't grabbed anything more than the two cards. 

"Show me," he demanded in what she'd come to recognize as a true Gotham accent. 

With her at a crouch, it was impossible to reach into her pocket to retrieve the two cards. She'd have to stand up, and that means moving. Praying and hoping he doesn't spook and shoot her, Kinley rose to her feet in one of the slowest manners she ever had. Finally, she was able to reach into her back pocket and pull out the two cards. Flipping them apart like a deck of playing cards, Kinley held them aloft while she turned. 

She wished she didn't. 

The first thing she saw, the first thing that she registered was _'black circle with silver outline'._ Then her eyes focused and she realized what she was really looking at was right down the barrel of a single-barrel shotgun. He's got it right up against her face, only foot away and his finger was _ready_ on the trigger. It didn't matter how fast she was, how trained or skilled, there would be no dodging _that_. 

She had the horrible mental image of brain matter, blood, and bone scattered all over floor.

Then the gun lowered -not away from her, just enough so she can see past the barrel- and she can see his face. Or she would've, had he not been wearing a ski mask like the others. But she can tell, though she had suspicions earlier, that this is not a boy. This was a grown man, pulling off convenience store robberies with a small gaggle of teenagers. 

Kinley felt disgust rise up in her. 

The man's hazel eyes glanced at the cards in her hand -she'd honestly forgotten about them- and scoffed. They're useless to him. 

"Jewelry," he barked next. 

Kinley raised her chin to show that she had no necklace. Then she tugged her sleeves down. On one wrist was a ponytail and collection of braided strings made by her nieces. On the other is a cheap blue watch she bought online for $5.99.

Naturally, he demanded the watch. 

She couldn't see his face, but Kinley imagined he was grinning when she tossed it at him. _'Go choke on a donut,'_ she remembered mentally cursing at him,_' I hope the pawn shop guy laughs at you when you try to hawk it.' _

Then she cussed out loud when he suddenly lifted the shotgun and shot the ceiling. "Love your reactions, Doll," he laughed all the harder when she called him a fucker. Up front, the cashier was screaming and the teen hooligans were swearing up a mixture of shock and panic. He lowered the gun back to point at her, pumped back with a solid ka-clunk. Kinley never took her eyes off his own, willing him to burst into fire right then and there. 

The world never has been and never will be accommodating to her demand. 

"Time to go, boys!" he called out. The shotgun remained trained on her the entire time as he backs towards the door. The teens were long gone by the time he reached the entrance, and with a mocking salute, so was he. 

The cashier's screams have diminished to sobs when Kinley felt it safe enough to move. The girl is gone, out of sight by the time she reached the front, but she could hear the sobbing and sniffling behind the counter. 

She cleared it in one leap.

On the other side, the girl is crumpled up in a heap, pushing herself back further and further into a corner as if to protect herself. Her face turned upward in panic when she heard Kinley's feet thud against the floor. A step forward and then Kinley has her arms full of frightened teenager. 

"Shh, I've got you. I've got you," she does all she can to comfort her, wrapping her with her entire body and a hand buried in her hair," They're gone. You're safe now, I've got you."

"I thought he- I thought he _shot you!_" the girl wailed, clinging to Kinley's sweatshirt and shaking like a leaf. She's so tiny and frail like this. Gods, she can't be any older than 16; Kinley's not exactly big by any means, but at this moment, it felt like holding a frightened child and that was not a feeling she thought she'd be feeling again anytime soon. 

"It's okay, it's okay," she made soothing sounds, squeezing the girl all the tighter," He was just being an asshole." Then, because she has to know," Are you okay?"

The girl shook her head and drew her knees up, looking even smaller than before. 

Kinley panicked for a moment; she doesn't remember hearing another gunshot, but those boys could've done something else. What if one of them had a knife? Frantically, she started looking for any signs of blood. "Are you hurt?" 

She shook her head again. "I thought he was going to shoot me," she cried. Kinley was dimly aware of shaking fingers digging into her shirt and clutching it tight, but her sigh of relief overrides everything else. She wasn't hurt, just scared. "Hey, it's gonna be okay," she reassured her," They're gone now. You're safe. You're safe."

They may be gone now, but she knew this still needed to be called in. So with one hand still around the girl, she reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. There's a brief flash of green on the screen. "Just gonna call the police real quick," she murmured and unlocks the phone. The music that had been playing silently pauses while she pulls up the phone app. 

Dispatch picked up on the 5th ring. "911, is this an immediate emergency? Is anybody dying?" 

It's... a different greeting than what she's used to. But this is Gotham, they're expected to be a little strange. 

There's not immediate danger anymore, so she told them," No, I'm calling to report an armed robbery."

"Are they still there?"

"No, they just left."

The line beeped onto hold.

Which...what the fuck? Kinley stared down at the phone in ill-guised confusion. It's not the most unusual response she's ever gotten, Kinley knows if the dispatch is swamped with calls they'll put the non-emergencies on hold. But that was just so... rude. Not even a warning or "Please hold."

There's a ringing and she realized that instead of putting her on hold, they were transferring her call. "Gotham City Records Department," a male voice answered.

Kinley sighed and reigned in her annoyance. "I'm calling in to report an armed robbery," she repeated. 

At least this one is decent enough to ask," Is anybody injured?"

She glanced down at the girl quietly crying into her shoulder and getting her sweatshirt full of snot and tears. "Nobody's hurt."

"What weapons were involved?"

"Two shotguns. Three assailants, one adult and two teens," she replied.

They went through a series of 20 Questions, which Kinley is quite comfortable with. It's a lot like listing off facts, answers short and to the point. Detective Merritt doesn't comment on how she's able to list off the man's suspected height and weight, or how she's able to tell him the exact model of shotgun he used. After he confirmed her name and a callback number, the store's address and location, he told her an officer would be out with them shortly.

Kinley hung up the phone feeling better than when she called. At this point, the girl has calmed down enough to wipe her face and sit back. She had actually pulled out her own phone too, and called her manager. Kinley waited until she hung up to tell her," Police are on their way."

"My boss says to just close up and he'll come in the morning," the girl said. Probably to file an insurance claim, Kinley guessed. 

They waited an hour and the police never show up.

The girl called her mom and she arrived in ten minutes. 

There was -unsurprisingly- a lot of hugs and crying when mom arrived and Kinley taped a handwritten **'CLOSED BECAUSE OF REASONS'** sign to the inside of the door. Then when she turned back around she found _herself_ caught up in mom's arms," Oof!"

In the end, there's really nothing more to do. The girl and her mom are tired and so is Kinley, so much so that she doesn't even try to argue the ride home offered to her.

* * *

_"Anything new? How's it going?"_ There's a text from her brother the next morning. 

Kinley thought a moment, then texted back,_" Nothing so far. Just settling in."_

* * *

"You expect me to believe you can't find him?" Tim sounded exasperated and he was. 

On his laptop screen, Barbara looked just as exasperated.** "I'm not all-seeing, Tim,"** she told him,**" I'm not actually an Oracle. If Jason doesn't want to be found, he can't be found." **

_'Then why take the name Oracle?'_ Tim thought sourly, but knew better than to voice it. He wasn't being fair to Barbara, he knew that. Jason _was_ one of the best when it came to hiding, whether in plain sight or simply unseen. With a paranoia that rivaled Batman's and a mind that came up with more contingency plans than even Tim, Jason could disappear right off the planet if he wanted to. 

(Tim tried not to think of the very likely possibility Jason might have fled the planet entirely, gone somewhere off world with Starfire.)

Didn't mean he had to like it. 

"Any way to send out a message of some sort?" he asked instead, pressing his hands tight around his mug of tea. The heat sank slowly into his fingertips, but it wasn't enough. It never was. "Something that'll catch his attention? Tell him it's okay to come home?"

**"Not without knowing where to send it to,"** she shook her head,**" And we don't know about any of his safehouses outside of Gotham."**

"He used to talk about an island," Tim murmured," Some tropical island he and the Outlaws made into their base."

"If Jason, Kori, and Roy have an island, it'd be heavily cloaked with alien tech, modified by Roy. I doubt I'd be able to find it, even if I knew what sea it was located in."

_'Damn,'_ he groaned. Damn Jason for being so... so... paranoid!

Tim mumbled under his breath and took another sip of his tea. "Did you say you sent Steph and Cass out that night?" he asked, remembering Steph randomly coming up to him with a heartfelt apology for 'not being able to stop the big lug'. "Do either of them have a clue as to where he's gone?"

Barbara readjusted her glasses. **"No,"** she replied with a straight face.

* * *

"The King is in!"

This is what greeted Kinley the moment she stepped foot through the door. 

The bar is just as dingy as she remembered and Bartender Stabby is already glaring at her. For a moment, she felt a slice of trepidation go through her, wondering if she'd actually been banned from coming back. But he hadn't explicitly said so when he kicked her out last time. 

But then she realized he wasn't actually glaring at her, but to her right. Kinley peered around the door she just walked through and discovered a partition hiding a U-shaped booth. In this booth was a decent enough looking fellow... and Coco. Coco, who had been the one to yell 'the King is in!'. Coco, who is now waving excitedly at her to come sit down with her. 

Kinley laughed and made her way over to the bar instead. "Rum and coke," she asked, grinning widely when he slammed the glass down in front of her. 

"No fighting," he growled at her. His hand didn't move from the glass until she agreed. But once she had her hands on the glass, she quipped," You're just mad because you want all the action for yourself." And maybe she imagined it, but for a moment there it looked the corner of his lip twitched. Might've even been a smile. 

As she made her way back to the booth with Coco and her mystery man in it, Kinley eyed the both of them. Coco was making corny 'come hither' gestures with her finger and bedroom eyes that Kinley hoped she realized weren't working on her. The man himself paid no attention to Kinley, instead trying to get Coco's attention back to him. Sloppy kisses on her neck, hushed whispers that were probably meant to be dirty, and a possessive hand on her arm did not go very far in his favor. 

At first glance, it looked like a very intimate rendezvoux. If it weren't for Coco's insistence, Kinley would've left the two of them to their devices. 

"Kingly!" the cheer in Coco's voice was sarcastically sweet," _So_ glad to see you again. Sweetling, this is Kingly." The man paused in his affections to leer up at Kinley. He looked annoyed, but intrigued at her. One of her own sculpted brows rose in scrutiny and challenge; he was _not_ impressive in much capacity. 

_'Seen better,'_ she thought, and remembered teal eyes and a shock of white hair. 

He apparently deemed her not worth his time either, grunting out a," So?" to her introduction. 

Kinley ignored him purposefully, taking on an air of distate towards him. "Hey Coco," she cooed, sounding just as saccharine," Getting into any trouble?"

"You know it," her smile was sharp, all tooth and fangs.

Kinley's gaze flickered back over to the man. "Busy?" she asked with raised eyebrow. _'Need me to interfere?'_

Coco answered," No," the same time the guy said," Actually yeah, she's busy. So maybe buzz off?" Oooooh, a tough guy. The thought of slamming this guy's face into the table flashed across her mind. 

Coco smiled in victory.

"Careful what you say to King," she warned and Kinley wondered if her nickname would continue to shorten (next it would be just K)," She's one girl you don't want to upset." Her eyes flickered over to the man's open side. Kinley took the hint and sat down, the two of them flanking the man into the booth. The only way out now was through them or under the table. 

He, the idiot, did not see it as such. He looked back and forth between the two of them, baffled by Kinley's suddenly affectionate twining of their arms. He looked delighted at the prospect: two beautiful women, one on each arm. Kinley slipped her arm under her elbow and petted his hand lightly while Coco did something under the table that made him swallow hard.

"King broke a man's wrist last time she was here," Coco finished.

Now he swallowed for a whole other reason. He looked uneasily over at her," Real-really?"

Kinley smiled beautifully at him. "Like a glowstick," she purred. Then she grabbed his hand and put it in a wrist lock. 

_"Fuuuuuuuuuuck!"_

The bang from his knee hitting the underside of the table was lost in the din of the bar, as well as his yell. As he twitched under Kinley's hand, Coco's smile grew predatory. "I told you not to press your luck."

"What the hell, bitch!" his snarl would've been impressive if it hadn't immediately ended in a pained whimper. 

"Nah ah ah," Kinley crooned, keeping up the pressure on his wrist and wasn't it a weird thing that she almost liked that little sound he made? Not half bad looking, and if it weren't for that greasy hair of his she might even call him handsome. "You never call a woman bitch," she warned," Only another woman can do that."

Coco laughed," Very classy. Now, are you ready to listen, Sweetling?"

"Fuck yo-argh!"

"King!" Stabby yelled from across the room and Kinley glanced up at him. Oops, he must've noticed and was now glaring at her. "No more broken wrists!" he yelled.

The poor guy in between her and Coco whimpered, actually whimpered. Holding his wrist with one hand, Kinley lifted her left to wave at Stabby. At the same time, she said," Better hurry this up."

Coco didn't waste time. "Maybe next time you'll listen when a girl tells you to fuck off."

"You ain't a-" he started but quickly changed course when Kinley put the slightest bit pressure," You could've just said _no_."

Sharp manicured nails dug into the back of his free hand, clawing at the table top. "I _did_ say no," she growled, dropping the falsetto from her voice and for a moment Kinley was reminded of the vocal cords Coco was born with," I gave you my price and you would not accept it. So you can either pay me what I want, or you can fuck off. With a broken wrist or not, your choice."

A minute passed as he looked between the two of them. Then with a look of utter defeat, he caved," I'll leave."

"Good boy."

With practiced ease, Kinley guided him out of the booth while maintaining the lock. She held it all the way to the front door, tightening it every time he swore at her. "Just be a sec!" she yelled to Stabby when he glared at her. 

One minute, a few threats, and one less man later, Kinley returned to the bar alone. Stabby's arms were crossed against his chest, his knife tattoo flexing with the movement. "I told you no more fighting," he said. 

"I didn't break his wrist," she argued," And I would hardly call that a fight."

"Then what would you call it?"

She thought a moment. "Taking out the trash?"

A few stools over, one of the night girls snorted into her drink. Stabby glared at her, then back at Kinley. She smiled sweetly up at him," Can I have a new rum and coke?"

If the man had any less self control, he probably would've thrown up his hands. Or maybe even smiled. (She'll win him over one of these days). As it was, he just slammed a half bottle of Morgan down in front of her, followed by a bottle of coke and a glass. "Make your own damn drink."

"Love you too Stabby!"

Back at the booth, she slid in next to Coco with her prize. "You," she clunked the rum bottle down," owe me an explanation." She shoved her old glass, still sadly half full but untrustworthy, off to the side. 

"Damn girl, you're sexy when you manhandle motherfuckers."

"It's a gift," she retorted while making herself a strong drink," Now, first things first. What's with the 'The King is in!' bullshit? And who was that guy and why did I have to throw him out?" Once she put the bottle down, Coco snatched it up and poured herself a rum neat.

Raising her glass to Kinley in a toast, she declared," Because you're King Lee!"

"You _know_ my name is Kinley."

She waved her hand dismissively at her," Too cutesy."

"It's my _name_."

"Pfft," she snorted into her glass and retorted," Sweetie, that's the kind of name I'd scream out during sex. King Lee is the kind of name I'd pay attention to."

"Does it matter?"

"People are going to have a whole lot more respect for someone called The King."

Kinley pondered this, sipping her rum. "That sounds like a street name..." Coco remained suspiciously quiet. 

"Coco whatserherface Lastname! Did you just give me a street name?!"

"You're welcome," she grinned," Your Majesty."


	10. You're Not Dimitri

Bzzt.

"You've got mail," Roy sang in an eerily accurate mimic of the AOL messenger notification. The look Jason shot him was befitting of his disgust at having to hear that sound come out of a human's mouth. Just as stupid as that damn paperclip. 

Bzzt.

It was his phone, buzzing from where it laid on the coffee table. They both stared at it. "You gonna get that?" Roy asked. With a shrug, Jason picked it up.

_"Can you come pick me up?"_   
_"I had a few too many drinks and apparently Uber refuses to come here after midnight."_

It was Pterodactyl. Which... weird. Why was she asking him for a ride home from the bar? (Hopefully it was a bar) And why was she at a bar in the first place? By his count, it should be nearing 3am in Gotham.

Leaning back on the couch, he typed out a text._ "Kinda hard to do when I'm not in Gotham."_

He laughed when a text came back instantly. _"You're not Dimitri."_

There was a little curiosity as to who this Dimitri was, but it was more fun to tease her. With a grin, he texted back,_" Wow, you must be really drunk if you're already drunk calling wrong numbers."_

"Okay, first of all."  
"It's Drunk Texting, not Drunk Calling."

Jason grinned; he could almost hear her sarcastic voice correcting him. 

_"And second: it's not drunk texting if I meant to send the text. This was a conscious decision."_   
_"A really smart and mature one too, my sober self would say."_

He chuckled.

_"And third: yes, I am kinda drunk."_

Roy had that little knowing smile on his face again, hidden behind his **I could be Superman. You'll never know** coffee mug. As long as he didn't say anything, Jason was content to pretend he didn't see it. Instead he typed away at his phone. 

_"Druuuuuuuunnnk."_   
_"What are you doing getting drunk at 3am anyways?"_

It took a little while for her next message to come in. _"Hello, this is the bartender at the CASKet. Please come pick up your friend at 2638 Park Row. She is drunk and refuses to walk home."_

A moment later:_ "Sorry, you're not Dimitri."_

This time, Roy did say something when Jason laughed out loud. "Do I need to be jealous?" he asked, grinning," I thought I was the only one allowed to make you laugh."

He got a couch pillow thrown at his face for his comment. But he was still chuckling so there was no animosity to his action. That alone told Roy who he was texting. "It's Pterodactyl, isn't it?"

"Actually, it's her bartender."

He brought Roy up to date on his bizarre conversation, much to the redhead's delight. "Damn, they both accidentally texted you," he grinned. Then a thought occured to him. "Wait, what does she have you saved as in her phone if they keep getting you confused with this Dimitri?"

Jason's smile was crooked as sin. "Are you saying I don't look like a Dimitri?"

"Speak Russian to me, baby," Roy waggled his eyebrows. 

He did indeed say something in Russian, but as a non-speaker, it was lost on Roy.

Bzzt.

In a flash, he was across the couch and pressing in close to Jason. "Now I'm invested," was his excuse," What's the latest in the Pterodactyl saga?"

Jason held up his phone for him to see and they both promptly burst out laughing. 

_"Son of a bitch! I'm so sorry!"_   
_"Wrong numbered by two people on the same phone. That's gotta be a record or something."_   
_"I gave the phone to Stabby so he could text Dimitri for me. Couldn't even trust him with that."_

"The bartender's name is Stabby?" Roy asked. They both thought a moment, then shrugged. 

_"Stabby?"_ he texted back.

_"The bartender. His name's actually Stan, but he always looks like he's about to stab someone. So I call him Stabby."_ Attached was a picture of a massive bald, dark-skinned man with tattoos on his arms. Those arms were crossed in front of him in a way that emphasized the knife tattoo on his left forearm. Combined with it was an ill-mannered scowl. Jason would bet five bucks she had just said," Say cheese!" then snapped a picture at the subsequent glare she got. 

Stabby seemed an appropriate nickname for the man. 

_"And now I have to go wait outside,"_ the next message said,_" He does not like to have his picture taken apparently."_  
_"And something about having to close up shop, but whatever."_

She's a talkative drunk, Jason realized. He didn't remember her being this chatty back in the train station; she was more content to listen, either to him or to music. But if this was what her inner monologue was saying all the time, then damn he wished she was chatty more often because this was hilarious.

"Ask if she got a hold of Dimitri," Roy spoke, his shoulder nudging Jason.

"Man, you _are_ invested," he nudged back, but sent off the question regardless. 

_"I did actually. He's really cranky and I'm going to so owe him a favor after this, but he's on his way."_   
_"Just waiting outside with Coco now."_   
_"I wonder if I can con him into giving her a ride home too."_

At this point, Roy had paused the telenovela they'd been watching and dragged the bowl of popcorn over to him. "Dimitri to the rescue," he narrated, tossing some popcorn into his mouth and chewing loudly," Saving two damsels in distress from having to walk home in the dark." 

Internally, Jason was proud that she had the mind to call for a ride instead of walking. He knew Gotham and he knew that bar she was at; she was right in the heart of Crime Alley, a dubious place at best in daylight. Out loud, he commented on Roy's utter enrapture in this conversation. 

"Jay, this is way more interesting to watch than your telenovelas," came the reply," I wanna know what happens next."

"What happens next is she goes home and falls asleep, and we finish another episode of La Patrona," Jason said. 

As he sent a quick,_" Good luck with that,"_ Roy threw a popcorn piece up into the air and caught it with his mouth. "Wrong," he said," She's in a talkative mood and you're in a good mood, so you two will keep texting late into the night being all cute and I'm going to watch this live action drama unfold." It sounds less like a prediction and more like an order. 

"It is _not_ a live action drama," Jason's protest was little more than a grumble. 

"Bro, you're flirting with a girl in a city you have a love-hate relationship with and you absolutely refuse to learn her name."

..."I'm not flirting."

There's a grin on Roy's face as he leaned over to pinch the tip of Jason's ear. "Then why are your ears turning red?" he teased, laughing when his hand is violently swatted away. 

Bzzt.

He had to keep hitting Roy's hand away -from either tugging his ears or his hair, which Roy _knows_ is sensitive- as he turned back to his phone. It was a picture, presumably of this mysterious Dimitri. There's the interior of a car, the photo panning over the passenger seat from the window, and the man sitting in the driver seat with one hand still on the gear shaft. 

A lean man with dark messy hair and an impressive frown, sporting some very casual sweats and a colorful T-shirt. Then Jason saw his face and his jaw dropped open. _Dimitri looks a hell lot like Dick._ For a moment, he thought it was Dick. But this Dimitri had a rounder face, a softer look to him despite that scowl, an adorable pair of black glasses placed over his nose, and a large scar on his lower jaw.

_"He says I owe him big time after this."_

Roy peeked at the phone and wolf-whistled. "Dimitri or Dick? Either way, ask if he's single."

"Roy, you have a girlfriend," Jason felt the need to remind him. 

"I'm sure Kori will share him with me." He grinned at the small smile on Jason's face. The younger man could only shake his head,_' Ridiculous'._ But then a thought occurred to him. 

"Wait, does that mean you two shared _me_?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Roy leaned heavily on him, if only to be annoying. A hand snaked out and successfully tugged at the hair at the base of Jason's neck. "You and Kori shared _me_."

Jason laughed," You're ridiculous," and shoved him off himself. But it was nice to sometimes be reminded that despite Kori and Roy being their own thing most of the time, it didn't mean they loved Jason any less. But that didn't mean that sometimes -just sometimes, mind you- he wondered what it'd be like to have someone to compliment himself just as well as Kori did Roy. 

"So I take it you're not going to ask if he's single?"

"Ridiculous," he repeated with a shake of his head. For sure he would not be asking anything about Dimitri; if Roy wanted to he could go to Gotham himself and find out. Instead he asked what Dimitri might expect from this favor owed. 

_"He's weird, it could be anything. Either he'll ask for a favor to get him in good with his boss, or maybe in two months I'll be picking him up drunk from some bar."_   
_"The little shit has learned to keep me on my toes."_   
_"Coco says hi btw."_

"Hi, Coco," Roy sang right into Jason's ear. Loudly.

_"My idiot friend says hi right back."_

"Hey!"

It took a while for the next message to come back, in which time Roy made plenty of comments. From," Seriously, if Dimitri grew out his hair, had a tad thinner face, maybe some colored contacts if his eyes aren't blue, he could be Dick's stand in." To which he gasped dramatically and clutched the bowl. "Jason! Do you think Dick has a long lost twin?!"

All the way to," Coco doesn't sound like a real name. Maybe a hooker name?" "I bet Coco's a hooker." "Pterodactyl made friends with the hookers of Gotham. She's just like you, Jay!" "Wait, what if that's _why_ she moved to Gotham. Jay, you're semi-dating a hooker. Quick, ask her for her stage name!"

By the end of his soda and popcorn fueled spaz, Jason was ready to throw him out the damn window. _No_, he did not think Dick had a long lost twin. Though... he _was_ adopted, and circus folks keep dubious medical records and... no! No long lost twin! 

And _no_, Pterodactyl was not a hooker. Jason knew the type, and she was too well off to have been reduced to selling her body for cash. And if she made friends, well she's in Crime Alley and apparently she can make friends with just about anyone everywhere.

Example A: Jason Todd.

Bzzt. 

The incoming message was... not what Jason or Roy had been expecting. There was a picture, which didn't surprise Jason. But this one was... pretty. He'd heard of perspective photography; it's hard not to when one spends any time with Tim Drake. This is the first time he's seen it applied to the Gotham skyline though. 

It was from the moment when you stand in the street, surrounded by tall buildings and noise, and you look up. Look straight up where your vision is filled with skyscrapers and lights, and beyond all that... the sky. Not that any stars could be seen; the city was always covered in too much cloud and smog and light pollution. But the way the city lights shone on that background turned it into a swirling canvas of orange and yellow. 

It showed the beautiful part of Gotham and he couldn't stop himself from saving it to his phone. 

She didn't send anything after that, so he could only assume she made it safely home. Probably passed out on her couch or bed, dizzingly drunk. Which is okay, because when Jason went to bed he made sure to send off a quick text. _"Thank for the picture. And greasy food should help with your hangover."_

* * *

The next picture he got was three days later. The screen filled with the petals of a purple flower, bright and clear enough that he can see the individual veins in the flower. The background was blurry blue walls and an open patio door.

He decided it was a good picture and saved that one too. 


	11. Dangerous Whispers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter we were told the answer to "Where is Dimitri?", now we get the answer to "Who is Dimitri?"
> 
> Also, Tim makes a friend.

Rumors were starting to spread. Or maybe they had already and only now was he hearing them. 

_"The Red Hood is dead."_  
_"He was blown up in one of the explosions around the last Arkham breakout."_  
_"I heard he was eaten by Killer Croc."_

Tim heard them on stakeouts, listening to thugs talking while he waits for Batman's signal. He heard them in an alley, leaping overhead and just catching snippets from the homeless huddled down below. He even heard them on the damn scanner, in police chatter as they discuss the Bowery.

_"Numbers are going up again."_  
_"Fuck, that's the third murder this week."_  
_"Red Hood's not running the neighborhood anymore, so all the roaches are coming out of the woodwork again."_  
_"Yeah, I heard he disappeared in the Arkham breakout. Anyone know what happened?"_  
_"Haven't you heard? He died in the attack, man."_  
_"The Red Hood is dead."_  
_"Went down fighting."_

And Tim just wanted to scream at all of them. At this point, he doesn't even know who he wanted to scream at. The thugs for making up scenarios, the homeless for saying that they're dead without him, the police for saying they miss his results while condemning his actions. Batman for hearing all of this and doing _nothing_ to set the record straight. Dick for chasing Jason out of the city in the first place. 

The Red Hood is _not_ dead! _He_, Red Robin, was the one who went down fighting Killer Croc! Nobody died and definitely not Jason! He wants to scream all this but he holds it all in because he knows it won't change anything. 

The Red Hood isn't dead, but he isn't coming back. Red Robin went down, but he got back up. Crime is going back up, but he'll be damned if he can't make it go back down again. 

So when Tim got the all clear from Alfred at three weeks, he didn't even wait one night before going back out on his solo patrols. 

He already knew that Jason's territory went unchecked the entire time he's been gone. How else would the crime have gotten this bad this quick? He wondered if Batman actually _forgot_ about Park Row, or if he just didn't care enough to add it onto his and Robin's patrol?

Actually, scratch that, he didn't want to know the answer to that question. Besides, _he's_ going to take over Jason's old route himself so there's no point wondering what-ifs.

And that's how Red Robin found himself flying over Morrison Ave just as he heared a woman screaming. There, tucked away in an alley and backed against a chainlink fence, two men advancing on her. She's terrified and holding her purse like a weapon, frightened but ready to wrap the straps around someone's neck.

Muggers or rapists, Red really can't tell and he doesn't care which. He just wants a fight. He landed behind the men, soundless like the night - Jason would've made a large THUD, just to intimidate them- and only the woman saw him at first. Her reaction is... relieved actually, and for some reason that made Tim's shitty night worth it. 

It's good to know that despite the rumors going around, the citizens still have a little faith in them.

"This is your only warning," he called out and boy was it satisfying to watch the two bozos nearly jump out of their own skins. His arrival must've been quieter than he thought. Still didn't stop them from turning on him, knives brandished -really, a switchblade?- and leering. "Looks like we've got a bat here," Bozo #1 sneered. 

Tim can't help himself. "A bird actually."

"Stay outta this, Freak! The bitch owes us."

Behind them, the woman spat in disgust," I don't owe you _anything_, Charlie!"

"Nnnoooope," Tim replied and took out his bo staff, making a show to do so slowly and almost lazily. He gave it an experimental twirl. "Don't think I will stay out of it."

Then Bozo #2 ran at him, tiny little knife in hand and yelling a battle cry. If he was smarter, he would've seen the grin on Red Robin's face. 

_'It's good be back in the field.'_

* * *

Approximately two minutes and fifteen seconds later, Tim had two groaning, heavily bruised, ugly mugs zip-tied and on the alley floor. He was a little disappointed and secretly itching for another fight. That was too easy and he had too much _everything_ built up inside him just itching to be let out. But instead of complaining, he just rifled through their pockets, looking for ID.

"I thought you was the Hood," the woman approached him, still slightly shaking but at ease with the men tied up," All that red, droppin' out of the sky. But you're that... whatsit... Robin, right?"

Tim successfully found two wallets, complete with photo ID's. While he scanned them, looking for any past crimes, he answered her," _Red_ Robin, actually." Charlie and Robert, brothers with a knack for small time robbery, but nothing big. 

"What's you doin' all the way out here? I thought you bats were too good for Crime Alley."

If Tim shut his scanner with more force than needed, well then no one could call him out on it. But she was right, none of them ever really came out here unless they had a case. At first, it was because the Red Hood kept a firm line drawn in the sand. 'I stay on this side, you bats stay on that side.' But for the past three weeks, they really had no excuse. 

"Just filling in for the Red Hood," he said instead and sent a quick text to his contact at the GCPD.

There was a small scuffling sound and a low groan. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her lightly kick Bozo #1, the one named Charlie. It was only once, so he let it go. Sounds like he deserved it anyways. 

"So is it true?" she was back to talking to him again. 

"Is what true?"

"The Hood's dead, isn't he? That's why you're 'filling in'?"

"_No_," Tim growled, sounding too much like Bruce to be comfortable. Who cared anyways? He was past the point of caring. Let him sound like Bruce. Let him sound angry and argumentative and-

-and use this to his advantage. Let him _argue_ this. Dispel the rumors himself, let Gotham know the Red Hood was still alive if not here and Red Robin was pissed that anyone could say otherwise. Do some goddamn _damage control._

It was a long shot; he was willing to try but damn if he didn't feel tired already. This would be like fighting a battle uphill. In a hurricane. "The Red Hood is alive," he told her, loud and firm enough that even the Bozos could hear him. If he was lucky, maybe word would spread. "He's just out of town for a bit," he said. 

They seemed to accept that, for now. Tim supposed he would have to repeat himself a few dozen times before anyone truly believed him. With Jason disappearing immediately after a jail break, then not showing himself anywhere else on the planet yet, the rumors would continue. 

Huh, how hilarious would it be if he did a press release? Full out Red Robin regalia, room full of press reporters, just stating," Yes, I am Red Robin. The Red Hood's not dead. Stay in school, don't do drugs kids. Red Robin out."

It would be such Ironman levels, Bruce might even disown him. 

Ugh, but that meant dealing with Vicki Vale. Okay, maybe not worth it. Spreading rumors in alleyways it was then!

Bzzt.

And there was his text back from his contact: a squad was on its way to pick up Charlie and Robert. His work was done here, so after a quick goodbye to the woman with a," And stop walking around at night," he was off. 

The rest of the Bowery was moderately quiet. Gotham was never actually quiet, too much nightlife for that, but there was nothing big going on at the moment. (Not that Bruce would let him in on any big cases. Not until he was fully recovered). A couple thwarted muggings later and he was starting to feel a little bit out of breath. 

Ouch, he hadn't realized his broken ribs would still be this tender 3 weeks later. Maybe it was a good thing it was a quiet patrol. But hell if he was going to tell Alfred that his ribs were still hurting. He'd be benched for _another_ week, at best. 

So he found an empty rooftop down on Jefferson Ave and took a breather. Or two. But that was okay, it gave him time to think, to plan. Or as Stephanie liked to say, to plot. 

Integrating Jason's territory into his nightly patrol wouldn't be all that difficult. As the only member of the family that Jason could tolerate (other than Alfred), Tim found himself with the territory directly adjacent to the Bowery. Otisburg used to be Dick's stomping grounds, back when Nightwing still ran around in Gotham. But after Bruce died, Dick became Batman and Tim had to reinvent himself as Red Robin, he took the territory for his own. 

And a good thing too, once Jason came back. 

But if he was going to take care of Jason's neighborhood -and he _would_, he wouldn't be able to forgive himself if he didn't- then he wanted to do it _right_. That mean no more killings, he wasn't going to do it Jason's style. He also wasn't going to do it Batman's style; ignore the small fry and only go for the big fish. Tim was definitely going to take down as many drug cartels and gangs as he could, but he wouldn't mind stopping every mugging or robbery he saw. 

Now, Jason had to have informants in the city. He got his information somewhere. Being locked out of their system, and having to be careful to avoid Oracle's eye, had limited his research capabilities. Which meant that Jason had to do it the old fashioned wa-

"Either the apartment building next door is _really_ interesting, or your mind is a million miles away."

"Gahh!" Tim screamed in a terrible fashion -he will _forever_ deny he made such a sound!- and flailed into a fighting stance. 

He needn't bother really, it was just a civilian. A woman sat at the base of one of the air ducts, arm propped up on her knee and smiling like the cat who got the cream. Tim saw her put something back into her hoodie pocket, but her other hand held a simple coffee mug. No weapon in sight, he was relieved to see. 

For the most part: harmless. But boy was he embarrassed that he hadn't noticed her there before. 

"How long have you been there?" he asked once he got his heartbeat back down to a reasonable pace. 

"Dude, I was here first. Get a roof."

Nice, a movie reference, he could respect that. (Even if he slightly hated her for the fact that he really hadn't seen her there) The girl, whoever she was, stood up to properly greet him. She did so with more grace and poise than one would expect, he couldn't help but notice with his analytical mind, not one drop of her cup spilling over. Flags were going off in his mind; she moved like Selina.

Tim found a hand being held out to him. "Kinley Battaglia."

"Umm," he stared at the outstretched hand, then back at her. This was probably a four on the weirdness scale. "Red Robin," he shook her hand. 

Kinley's handshake was firm, tough like she was used to dealing with bigger people and winning. He looked at her a little more closely. Her clothes weren't new, obviously well worn but they were clean and that red hoodie looked warm. Soft, windswept brown hair and a clean face too. All told him she wasn't homeless; well cared for, in fact. 

Her grin widened," Oh good, I was about to call you Dr. Mid Nite."

Tim made a face at that, if Steph heard that he'd never live it down. Kinley laughed a little more at his expression and her hand retreated to wrap around her mug. "Sorry, I tend to break tension with humor," she explained," People relax more when they're laughing."

_Why_ was she telling him this? Sure, he could understand the method. There were a lot of people he knew who did the same thing to make people like them. First and foremost: Dick. Even though his brother was naturally a happy-go-lucky sort of man ("A goddamn ray of annoying sunshine," Jason called him once) Tim knew that sometimes Dick did it just to make others smile. It made them put their guard down. People relax when they're laughing, they _trust_ more. 

If this woman does the same thing, why was she straight up telling him that? If she wanted to get him to get his guard down for some nefarious reasons, why tell him her plan? Unless, she... didn't have any ulterior motive? 

Right. That was totally what she was going for. Maybe this Kinley was genuinely a nice person, with no ulterior motive. Who just happened to be hanging out on a roof on a neighborhood block affectionately named Crime Alley.

"-okay? Hey, Red Robin!" A small hand waved in front of his face. 

"Huh?" he blinked back to attention. Damn, he was more tired than he thought. Kinley was looking at him with a worried look on her face. 

"Are you okay?" she repeated her question. 

"Yeah, of course I am," he replied and gave her a perfect, award-winning Tim Drake: CEO smile. 

She stared at him like she didn't believe him but didn't call him out on it. Instead, she told him," I'm going down to get some more coffee. Do you want any?"

"Coffee?"

* * *

Alright, so this was probably a trap or ambush of some sort, but Tim was just past the point of caring. He needed coffee or tea and the closest café that stayed open late for him was three miles back. Even if Ra's ninjas jumped out of the shadows right now, Tim Drake was going to get his damn coffee.

They climbed down the fire escape, Kinley pointing out a couple missing steps so he wouldn't fall (he wouldn't have anyways, but it was the thought that counted). She lived on the 18th floor of the 20 story apartment and had apparently just moved in. There wasn't even a couch yet, he noticed as they swung in through the window. 

"I haven't found one I like yet," was her excuse. 

There was however an ornately carved dining table. "Yay for antique stores," she sang when pulling out a couple chairs. 

"I like the blue paint," he commented, looking around at the teal walls and ceiling. The color looked nice, he thought, familiar too but how would he know? It was just a color. Kinley was puttering around at the counter with the coffee pot. When he went to sit down, a coffee mug with the Batman symbol and the words,**' Na na na na na na na na SUCK IT'** was plopped down in front of him.

He had an insane urge to steal it. 

"How do you like your coffee?" she asked. 

"As black as my soul."

...

A carton on milk appeared in front of him. 

He would not laugh. He would not laugh. He would _not_\- Alright, so maybe he grinned a little bit when he shoved the milk back at her and made grabby hands at the coffee pot.

Four minutes later he was happily sipping away at strong black coffee back on the roof. Kinley took a sip of her sugary, half milk _abomination_ next to him. 

"Why were you up on the roof in the first place?" he asked. 

With a gulp of her coffee-flavored milk, she thought his question over. Her chin tipped up and her head tilted back as she gazed upwards. What she saw up there, he couldn't tell. It was the same Gotham sky as ever. 

"I missed them," she said at last. 

Them? Them who? Tim wondered who it could be that she missed. But then he remembered and felt like a doofus for not realizing it. She just moved here, presumably from out of town, away from home. Her family. She was missing her family. 

"Your family?" he asked, just to clarify. 

Eyes still skyward, she smiled. "They're loud," she murmured quietly, softly like a mother telling a bedtime story," and crazy and slightly annoying. Every single one of them wears their heart on their sleeves and completely shameless." The smile turned into a short huff of laughter. "And at least one calls every single day, so I'm not really given the chance to miss them. So no... they're not the ones I miss."

Her family sounded... so very much unlike his own. Loud, crazy, and annoying: that described his family to a T. But the whole hearts on sleeves and calling every day thing... he wondered how that would work in a family. That's got to get old real fast. 

"Then who?"

"Not who," she corrected," What. The stars. I miss the stars." 

Oh. Which, yeah, Gotham has too much light pollution. Between that and the weather, not a star was to be seen. Tim's mind quickly figured out that she must not be from a big city. 

"They never change," she continued," Of all the things that are constant in this world, I can count on them to be the same every time I look up. I like to find all the constellations and name them." Her hand reached up towards the sky, holding her phone aloft," See, there's the Big Dipper." Tim leaned over and saw an app on her phone that showed where all the stars would be if you could see them.

Huh, neat.

"I was calibrating the compass when you showed up."

"So you like stars?"

"Yep," she replied, popping on the P. The phone went back into her pocket, the light from it changing from the app's purple to green. "I'm not an astrologist by any means. I just like the stories behind them."

Time smiled teasingly," You like fairy tales."

"Shush," a hand waved flippantly at him," That is _culture and history_, you uneducated potato." And while Tim was still reeling back from being called a _potato_, she continued ranting," And you can't say you've never seen a Disney movie or read a Grimm tale. If you do, you're a liar and I'll tell everyone that Red Robin's a dirty liar that lies."

_'There's no way this girl is for real,_' Tim thought as he laughed. She wouldn't be wrong, per se, he _was_ a notorious liar and damn good at it too. But to be called out on it for Disney movies? And she called him an uneducated potato!

Steph would love her and the two of them would possibly set the city on fire with their shenanigans. With a huff, he realized it would be up to him to make sure the two never meet. 

"So correct me if I'm wrong," Kinley hummed against the rim of her **'DON'T TALK TO ME UNTIL THIS CUP IS EMPTY'** mug," but you're a little out of your territory too, aren't you?"

Tim stiffened, he could see where this was going. Honestly, he would probably have this exact same conversation a million times in the near future. "I thought you were new in town," he said instead. 

Her smile was sweet and simple and as fake as his own. "Three weeks is a longer time than you think and people like to talk," she said," If you know where to sit, they talk a lot."

_'Well that sounded ominous.'_

But going out on a limb here, it also sounded like Kinley had connections. Like she had her ear to the ground and already he was wondering what he'd have to do to get her to share. 

"It's gonna get busy for you soon," she added, more serious," From what I hear, Red Hood ran a tight ship around here. If he's really gone, then a lot of people are going to see what they can get away with. Especially with a power vacuum."

He groaned; great, there was going to be _chaos_. Tim did not _like_ chaos. Tim liked order and logic and neatly slotted together puzzles. "I don't suppose you're going to tell me who to expect trouble from?" he asked. 

"I'm new here," her voice is even and firm, not even attempting to play at innocent," I don't even remember my address half the time, much less who plays ball in this neighborhood." 

"Would be a whole lot easier if I could just set the record straight," he muttered into his coffee. 

"...Are you sure that's what you want to do?"

Kinley's tone was low, and dark. A hint of quiet warning layered underneath and it reminded him greatly of Bruce ("Think long and hard before you finish that sentence.")

"What?" Tim turned to her, equal parts baffled and cautious. 

Her eyes were cold. No, not cold. _Solid_. Not cold, but not warm, and the look in her eyes that there is _so much more_ hidden behind them but no one can see past the wall of stone. It's too much like looking into Bruce's eyes that it made the hairs on the back of Tim's neck stand up. "You said you want to set the record straight," she echoed him," Well, what _is_ the record? What happened that night, Red Robin?"

"_What?_" he could only blink and repeat, still trying to figure out just what the hell is going on. What happened to the joking Kinley? The one who smiled and cracked jokes so people would rela-

_'Ohhhhh... She's finally making her move.'_ She had even warned him of her tactics right off the bat, and yet somehow even when he knew that Tim _had_ been off his guard.

"I may be new here, but I've noticed two things about the people of Park Row," she said," They keep quiet and they keep to themselves. And they _all_ keep tabs on the Red Hood. So when there's a battle royale down on 138th and Morrison, with the K-line's station entrance being destroyed, you bet your ass they know about it. At this point, it's common knowledge it was you, Red Hood, and Killer Croc. It's also common knowledge one of you went down that night."

"Not so common knowledge: it was _you_."

_'Damn,'_ Tim thought. Kinley didn't just have ears to the ground, she had ears _underground_. Just who was Kinley Battaglia?

"Yeah..." he agreed," It _was_ me who got hurt. I mean, Red Hood did too, but not as bad."

She nodded," He didn't go down. He was seen carting you off after leaving Croc under a building."

_'Is that how Jason did it?'_ "How do you _know_ all this?"

She waved him off again. "Not important."

_'Not important?'_ he thought angrily,_' Like hell! How she knows all this is pretty damn important!'_

"Okay, so everyone knows he's alive," Tim took a deep breath, frowning but pressing forward," But then why all the rumors of his death? It's all I've been hearing for days and it's really starting to piss me off."

"You really don't know, do you?" she asked. She was looking at him like a child which really irritated him. But hey, she didn't look about ready to stab him in the heart anymore, so that was a plus. 

He sighed; he really needed to find a way to get Kinley to share her knowledge. "Know what?" he asked," And just tell me straight, please? I'm too tired to piece together your hints and comments and I just want a clear explanation."

Mercifully -or it might've been pity- she decided to cut the mind games. "Alright, here's what all the chatter is," she began," One: Hood was fine -hurt, but alive- when he saved your ass. Two: everyone knows he probably brought you to Batman, who openly regards Red Hood as a criminal and fights him often. Three: _immediately_ after, he goes missing. And not just 'I'm hurt so I'm gonna lay low' but more like straight up disappeared. Four: there's multiple, reliable sources saying one thing over and over again. 'Red Hood won't bother Batman anymore. He's been taken care of'."

"And five..." she looked almost regretful saying this last one," a body _was_ found... Big, bulky, scarred, Killer Croc claw marks... and..."

"And _what?_" he was desperate at this point, seething.

"The letter B was carved onto his chest."

It took Tim a moment -the coffee hasn't kicked in yet- but when it does process, his face goes pale. Really pale. "No," he gasped," No no no no no, that's... that's just... _no_. They think _we_ did something to him?!"

"You _were_ the last ones to see him alive-"

"HE'S NOT DEAD!"

Silence.

Rooftop silence was different from other kinds of silence. The sounds of the city still laid beyond, noisy and loud, but rooftop silence was like a bubble. To know there were people there, but no voices, not even the sound of breathing. In their line of work, rooftop silence always _always_ came before or after bad news. He hadn't meant to do that. Kinley was just helping him (or some odd variation of help) and he just... shouted at her. Perhaps all night, he'd wanted to scream, but Red Robin was supposed to have better control of himself. Screaming didn't solve anything; it didn't fix anything, and it wouldn't bring Jason back. 

"Okay..." she breathed," He's not dead. So where is he?" She was pressing for more information and he knew that, but for once he was okay with giving it. 

"He's... out of town," he said lamely," I don't know where, _we_ don't know where, and I don't know what else to say about it. Something came up and he left and I... I promised to take care of Crime Alley til he got back."

Exhausted and emotionally drained, Tim sat down on the ledge. Kinley shifted next to him, the knuckles of her fingers rubbing against her collarbone in an unconscious movement. After a moment, she sat on the ledge beside him. "I believe you," she spoke softly," Now how do we get everyone else to?"

Tim almost laughed bitterly; don't think he didn't notice the use of 'we'. "I don't suppose you can just spread the word?" he asked, hopeful but realistic. That would take so long. Too long. Even if it was his best bet.

"Put up posters?" she suggested. 

"Why not just go ahead and post a billboard?"

"That could work. How expensive are they?"

"I'm not putting up a damn billboard!" It was bad enough one had his face on it as Tim Drake. 

She grinned at him in challenge," I've got some spray paint. Go graffiti a wall."

"Illegal."

"Then I'm afraid your only option is to go door to door," she stated matter-of-factly.

He didn't want to, but Tim felt a smile coming on. "You must be from the 70's. No one goes door to door anymore."

"You've obviously never been to Kansas then."

He has, actually, but he didn't remember any traveling salesmen knocking on the Kent's door. Not that he was going to tell her that. He did, however comment," You know, I almost thought of doing a press conference."

It was surprisingly one idea she didn't make fun of. "That could work," she mumbled thoughtfully. 

"Bat's don't do press conferences," he quickly shut her down. 

"Hear me out!" she shot back," Not a press conference, but you've got to get the word out somehow. What if,_ what if_, you gave a quick statement to a reporter -just one!- and he could write a piece on the Red Hood. Tell the truth of what happened that night."

His first instinct was to say," Hell no!" He did enough interviews as Tim, the last thing he needed was one as his vigilante persona. But Kinley was right; he needed to let the people of Crime Alley know. Especially if they all believed he was behind Jason's disappearance, if they believed Batman had the Red Hood killed. Tim didn't have a whole lot of options. 

Still... the thought of going to Vicki Vale or any other reporter from the Gotham Gazette to give an official statement left a bad taste in his mouth.

There was a clink as she set her cup down on the ledge between them. "It doesn't have to be a full article," she said," Just a comment, a sentence or two, enough to get your side of the story out and let people decide from there."

A sigh escaped him," I know the reporters in this city, and I can't trust them to not twist this around or blow it up to exaggerate the story. Even one sentence would give them an opening."

"You can trust this one. Besides, he's not even a reporter, he's a photographer for the Gotham Gazette."

"Still can't trust him. Not if he works for the Gazette."

Kinley stood up and moved so she was standing in front of him. Her eyes bored into Tim's, his own wide behind the whites of his lenses. "I promise on my life, he's trustworthy," she pressed," At least just meet him and then you can decide?"

"Haaaaagh," the sound Tim made was a mix between a sigh and a groan," You're as stubborn as my brothers." He grumbled for a bit, then," Fine, I'll check it out and then decide. What's the guy's name?"

"You'll meet him?"

"No, I'm going to run a background check on him, and _then_ I'll maybe meet him. Name?"

"Dimitri Shukis. S-H-U-K-I-S."

As Tim typed the name into his scanner, a few things popped up right away. A few short articles, some photos he'd taken (all looking very professional) and- whoa. Dimitri had a rather high security clearance for a civilian. Not just for Gotham either, _national_. 

Deciding he'd dig into it later, Tim closed the link for now. (He'd already made a mental note to look up Kinley as well, but he wouldn't tell her that.) "Let me know if you find any embarrasing pictures," said girl spoke up," I'd love to have something to tease him about."

The corners of his lips quirked up. "I'll keep that in mind," he told her. 

"Good," she nodded derisively and sat back down on the ledge and grabbed her cup. They fell back into an easy silence. Tim took back up his mug of coffee and sipped at it, thinking. 

An interview? Could he really go through with it? She seemed pretty confident about this Shukis guy, but then again he'd only just met her twenty minutes ago too. Was he crazy for even considering this in the first place?

"Hey Red?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you okay?" she asked.

There was that question again. Tim wondered if she did that a lot; ask everyone if they were okay. He wondered how many of them answered honestly. Did _he_ want to answer honestly? She'd already asked him that once, but he'd just told her he was fine. Obviously that hadn't boded well with her, but not since has she called him out on it. (No, she reserved that for calling him a Disney-loving liar).

But even more so... "I don't know how to answer," he admitted quietly," I'm still trying to figure out why you're asking in the first place."

"Because not enough people bother asking." He should've known she'd have a reply ready. "People care, but they forget about the little ways to show it," she told him," Even something as small as asking 'Are you okay?'. It could mean nothing to someone, or it could mean _everything_."

There was a quiet moment before he said,"... You sound like a fortune cookie."

Kinley snorted as ungracefully as possible, completely unsuspecting of that comment. Which then dissolved into a fit of laughter. "Oh my gods, you did _not_ just say that!" she howled, for some reason just _hysterical _at that comment," I Don't know if it's just my luck or if you're just being difficult on purpose!"

"It's what I do," this time he didn't have to fake his smile," Don't you know that Red Robin lives to be diffi-"

**"Red Robin, you there?"** Barbara's voice crackled in his ear. There was almost a repeat of his earlier squawk, _almost_, but Tim held it in with a sudden cough. 

"Yeah, I'm here," he replied and held up a finger towards Kinley to note that he was busy," What's up?"

**"Alarms going off at Devensky's Jewelry,"** why did she sound almost amused? **"You might want to look into it."**

"Copy that," he replied, already planning his route," Be there in 5."

To Kinley, he lifted two fingers in a mock salute. "Duty calls," he grinned then grappled off the roof.

It wasn't until later, when a police officer mentioned," Nice cup," that he remembered he still had the mug in his hand. 


	12. Hit the Ground but I Won't Be Running

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I feel bad for missing a whole week of updates. So here, have an extra.
> 
> The continuing answer to "Who is Dimitri?"

**SCREEEEECH**!

"Holy fuck!" Jason about fell off the roof when his phone suddenly decided to screech like some damned beast. Next to him, Roy was laughing uproariously.

"Your face!" he crowed," You should've seen your face!" He was making _no_ attempt at being quiet, despite them being on what was supposed to be a stakeout. Not that that... _sound_ had been any sort of quiet. 

And now the arms dealers knew they were on the warehouse roof. "Goddamnit!" Jason swore at his friend and shoved his helmet on his head," That gave away our position."

Roy, who apparently had no sense of subtlety, didn't seem too broken up about it; he was still laughing as he followed Jason into a shootout. Jay shot one of the dealers (the buyer's bodyguard actually) in the shoulder and kicked another in the gut (the buyer). And just when he went to grapple the seller leaving Roy the bodyguard-

**SCREEEEECH**!

The seller went flying onto his back from a haymaker courtesy of Jason's fist. "What the hell did you do to my phone?!" he yelled at Roy.

More laughter was his answer. "I only changed the ringtone!" he shouted back as he stabbed an arrow -stabbed! Didn't even bother getting his bow out- into a bodyguard's thigh. He glanced and grinned at his partner and dissolved into more laughter. Even with the helmet, Jason's ire was obvious. 

"And turned the volume up!"

"I wanted to be sure you heard it."

**SCREEEEECH**!

The phone went off again, but he really wasn't able to do anything about it right now. Not with the whole being strangled in a chokehold by some thug who spent way too much time on his upper body workout. But big or not....

"Wahhhhh!"

He went flying over Jason's shoulders and into a wall. Upside down he slid to the floor, legs flopping uselessly as he passed out. 

"Heads up!" Roy called and Jason ducked just in time to dodge the buyer's body flying overhead. He landed on top of the other guy, the both of them knocked out cold.

The warehouse fell silent.

Roy sauntered up, wiping dirt from his hands and looking far too smug. "Is it going to do that everytime I get a text?" Jason asked him with an air of resignation. 

"Only when Pterodactyl texts," he answered," Get it? It's a pterodactyl screech. I recorded it from Dracula a few weeks ago." He looked so proud of himself. 

"My phone was supposed to-" Jason shot the seller in the foot when he tried crawling away," -supposed to be on silent."

"Meh," Roy shrugged. He walked over to the seller, followed closely by Jason. "Admit it, you love it." He hauled the guy to his feet -well, foot- and boy, was he being a chatterbox.

"Please don't kill me!" he begged," Please, I beg you. I-I'll give you whatever you want! Money? I'll pay you." After that it was just a bunch of blubbering. 

"What should we do with this one?" Roy hummed, his hand squeezing the guy's shoulder so tight he was bound to leave bruises. Fancy expensive fabric bunched under his fingers; he was probably tearing the suit but Roy didn't really care. Anyone willing to sell AK's to both sides in attempt to start a gang war in Chicago deserved to be taken down a peg or two. 

"Where are the guns, Sal?" Jason asked, oh so calmly reloading his S&W. He really didn't need to, Roy knew he kept magazines ready on his belt. But there was something to be said for a man loading bullets one by one, looking at your face and trying to decide where to put the first one. 

Roy thought it was hot. Everyone else, not so much.

Sal flinched with every click as a round slid into place. 

"They're in the car!" he blurted out," You can have 'em. Take-take 'em. They're yours!"

Jason slid the magazine back in. "I'm not talking about the two cases in the Chevy," he growled and pointed the barrel at Sal's face," Where are the guns, Sal? All of them."

"That's," Sal stuttered," That's all of them, I swear!"

BANG! Jason shot his foot again, the same one. 

Roy hauled him back up with a hand under his shoulder. Sal wasn't a small guy, but he held him up like he weighed nothing. "Nobody likes a liar, Sal," he warned. Any trace of a smirk or smile was gone from his face as he leaned in close. Ugh, expensive aftershave. "We especially don't like liars who sell guns to kids."

"So let's try this again," even with the modifiers, Jason's voice sounded just that extra bit pissed off underneath that hood," Where. Are. The. Guns?"

Sal whimpered out an address. 

"Good boy," Roy grinned then knocked him out. This time, he let him fall to the ground. Let Sal have a quick nap before waking up in cuffs and behind bars. "So," he turned back to Jason and wasn't it something, the smile was back on his face," What did Pterodactyl say?"

Jason growled at him," Kinda busy at the moment." And okay, he kind of was busy putting all the goons into zipties but that was besides the point. Roy was _Invested_, capital I, in Jason's weird, flirty non-relationship.

Jay could deny it all he wanted, but this was a real life soap opera, on par with his telenovelas he got him and Kori addicted to. Even better than Kori's intergalactic shows. This was _real_. This was life. This was a girl insisting that Jason, a freaking Outlaw and vigilante, not know her name because then it would 'ruin the friendship'. And Jason, the son of the freaking Batman, refusing to give her a name either for 'safety reasons'. 

If Kori were here, she'd waste no time in telling Jason to get off his ass and _get the girl's name already_. Or you know... she'd be just as invested as Roy in all this drama. 

But while Roy wasn't as forceful as her, he pushed in his own way. "But it's Pterodactyl," he whined," And you know it's the middle of the night there."

"And?" he could easily imagine Jason's right eyebrow raised up in the way it always did," If it was an emergency, I'd be the last one she'd call."

"What if she's drunk-texting again?"

"Then it's definitely not an emergency."

Roy kept it up the whole way back to the hotel. "Have you checked your phone yet?"

"Only to turn the volume off."

"So what did Pterodactyl say. Have you checked it yet?"

"Nope," did Jason sound amused? Jason sounded amused. 

"Jaaaaay! I want to know what she's texting you as ass-o-clock at night."

Jason paused in his steps and yep! There went that right eyebrow again. "Sometimes I worry about how obsessed you are."

Roy just grinned at him. It was almost infectious. Almost. "You love me," he crooned," And I'm _invested_, not obsessed."

But then Jason got an idea. A horrible, awful idea and Roy could just hear the evil laughter when Jason smiled widely at him. "I'm cutting you off cold turkey. You don't get to see, hear, or read anymore of our conversations."

Roy gasped as if he'd just told him he never wanted to see his face again. It was a very convincing gasp of betrayal. "You wouldn't!"

Jason sounded almost gleeful at the prospect. That damned imaginary evil laugh. "I would."

"I'll..." Roy fumbled for some way to make him change his mind," I'll go to Gotham and find her and tell her your name."

"No, you won't," he responded, utterly sure that he wouldn't.

"I'll tell Kori."

"She's off planet."

"I'll cry."

Now the evil Grinch laugh was no longer imaginary. "You will."

"Then I have no choice but to assume that you're always having phone sex."

"And you won't be invited."

"Damnit, Jaybird!"

* * *

Two hours, a shower, and a rather large order of Chinese takeout later, Jason held true to his word and refused to let Roy anywhere near his phone. Call it payback for changing his ringtone. He was already planning on getting his hands on Roy's phone sometime in the future. Maybe mess with the autocorrect settings? Change the contact names around?

But while Roy buried his sorrows in Chinese food, Jason retired to his room. It was a long day and he was exhausted. Didn't even have the energy to do more than shuck off his suit and collapse face first onto the covers of his bed. 

It wasn't until he was about to go set an alarm for the morning that he remembered the texts. "Alright, what are you up to now, crazy lady?" he murmured and unlocked his phone," And why are you texting strangers at 2 in the morning?"

He thought about changing the ringtone but his phone was almost always on silent anyways. Not worth bothering with it, he decided, tapping on the message icon.

A video, a picture, and a text were waiting to be opened. 'Huh, a video, that's a first,' he thought. That was still loading, so he clicked on the photo first- _'What?_' and promptly dropped the phone on his face. "_Ow_," he groaned, hastily picking it up again. But no, there it was.

A picture of Tim. Well, not Tim Drake-Wayne. Red Robin, actually. But there was Tim, in a picture sent by a civilian from not-Gotham to his phone whom she didn't know, in full on Red Robin regalia. His cowl was up and he was on a rooftop somewhere in the Bowery. In his hands he was clutching a mug -probably filled with tea- like he was afraid someone was going to take it. 

How the fuck did she get a photo like this?

Tim was... smiling. Honest to goodness smiling, with a bat-certified outfit and a coffee mug in both hands. Jason wondered how she managed that; Tim might smile but Red Robin was usually as serious as Batman. Nah, who was he kidding? Pterodactyl's humor was right up Tim's alley. 

He could imagine the snark fest that had to have occurred. But more than his curiousity, he was... glad. It's been four weeks. Four weeks since he left Gotham. Four weeks since he first wondered if Tim would ever make a full recovery and wondering ever since. In all that time, Jason very _very_ carefully kept no tabs on Gotham or the bats, doing everything to minimize the risk of Oracle finding him. The only consolation he gave himself, the only link he allowed to the city was through these messages and he made sure to do even those anonymously. 

And in all that time, he wondered how Tim was doing. Now, thanks to Pterodactyl's picture, one of his worries could be put to rest. 

Tim looked good. He looked healthy (as much as one could be in their line of work) and if he was out on patrol, then even Alfred must've given him the all clear. 

Seeing the video finally loaded, Jason clicked on it. 

It was a tiny bit shakey, the first image to pop up the cement-covered roof of whatever building she was on. Then, silently, the camera swung up to focus on a dark figure at the edge of the roof.

Red Robin's back was to her and Jason had to guess that he didn't know she was there yet. At first glance, it appeared as if he were overlooking the city, brooding like the best of them. Were it not for the fact that the direction Tim was staring at was a brick wall.

Jason snickered when he realized Tim was lost in thought and staring off into nothing. 

Pterodactyl thought the same too. **"Either the apartment building next door is _really_ interesting, or your mind is a million miles away."**

**"Gahh!"**

Jason laughed out loud when Tim did a very convincing imitation of a flailing chicken. Then the video cut out by the time he turned around. 

Next chance he got, he was so going to tease him about it. He would be laughing about this for days! No way he could let Tim live it down. 

He could even tease him about the mug, for the text Pterodactyl sent said," _The brat stole my cup! I'm telling Batman."_

This was... this was just glorious and hilarious and the perfect way to end the day. And truly, for the first time since this whole thing began, Jason was so thankful for meeting that girl in the train station. If he hadn't gotten her number, if he hadn't saved it, if he hadn't sent her those stupid dinosaur pictures, he never would've gotten this video and picture.

What could he say in reply to this?_ 'Thanks for a good laugh.'? 'Awesome, now I've got prime blackmail material.'? Or 'Thanks for inadvertently letting me know my little brother is okay btw I'm the Red Hood.'?_

He didn't know how to respond, so he didn't.

* * *

Kinley sat in her guest room turned workshop with her laptop sitting on the workbench, her sister's face filling up the screen. Macie, like all well intending sisters, called at a very inconvenient time and refused to call back later. So here she was, watching her little sister put the finishing touches on coffee table she'd built out of 2X4's and reclaimed wood.

**"I can _smell_ that woodstain from here,"** Macie made a face when Kinley wiped on some Minwax Ebony.

"Cannot," Kinley retaliated quietly, trying to get the small corners under the X's. 

A soft smile stole over her face. While she mostly bantered with her younger brother, Trenton the lovable idiot, her relationship with Macie was generally sedated and simple. Macie never saw much reason or need for argument and usually just walked away when a fight was imminent. 

(That didn't mean she was a pacifist by any means. A cousin once made the mistake of calling her a coward when she walked away instead of arguing. That cousin then found two snakes in his boots the next morning.)

**"So is this one for you?"** Macie asked," **Or are you going to sell it?"**

Kinley wiped off the excess from the top. "It's for me," she answered," I can tell you about the matching end tables too. But I'm guessing you're not calling to talk shop."

Macie's smile was small and knowing,**" Well it's a different kind of shop talk, if that counts. Everyone wants to know how it's going."** By everyone, she meant _everyone_. Ever since Kinley made the announcement she was going to Gotham, she was met with an assortment of reactions. Half were worried for her and her state of mind for taking on such a big target, the other half applauding her tenacity and sent out boxes of chocolates in support. (Trent _loved_ that part)

"It's been..." Kinley thought back to her fights in the bar, befriending Coco and Stabby, of meeting Red Robin. The memory of a shotgun pointed at her face flashed across her mind. The cops that never showed up. "...eventful," she finished lamely. Her concentration soon returned to her project instead of her sister's inquisitive face. 

**"Wow, that was horrible,"** Macie commented in a deadpan voice,"** I know you can lie better than that."**

"I don't like lying to family," she retorted," I do enough of that to everyone else. I'm just... not sure yet about Gotham. About... our goal. Right now, I'm focusing on getting settled before I explore the city."

**"_Your_ goal,"** her sister reminded harshley," **Whatever happened to 'hit the ground running'? I've never seen you take this long to get established in a new place. Usually by now you'd be all over the place, fingers in all the pies, and at least looking like you've lived there your whole life."**

Kinley stubbornly stared at the rag in her hand, wiping over the wood, but Macie continued," **I mean, you're taking the time to fix up a rundown apartment in a rundown building in the poorest part of the city."**

Macie meant well, Kinley knew that. She just... showed her care in other ways, Kinley reminded herself. 

But as well as it was meant, it was still annoying. "I know what I'm doing, Mace," Kinley spoke curtly, not even looking at the screen," So what if I'm taking my time? I plan on being here for a long time and I'd rather live in an apartment that's halfway decent. I'll focus on other things when I'm ready."

**"Why couldn't you just move in with Dimitri? Then you _could_ focus without all this little stuff in your way."**

Disregarding that comment about moving in with Dimitri, because _wow_, Macie did not know Dimitri at all if she thought that would fly. But oh boy, was Macie in a fighting mood. Those moments were rare, but not altogether impossible. She must feel strongly about this if she was willing to argue about it. "I'm staying _here_," Kinley leveled a stare at her sister through the screen. Some would call it a glare, but it was more of a stare. A challenging one at that. One that said,' I will last longer than you. Try me.'

Every Battaglia knew there were few that could outlast her in stubbornness. Macie Reque-Battaglia was not one of them. 

There was a tense moment where sister stared at sister, challenging the other to speak first. Kinley could see Macie's non-confrontational nature at war with her big sister instincts. Throw in their family's weird heirarchy and-

**"Just let us know when you need help,"** she huffed and the video call ended. 

Kinley would've felt hurt by the hang-up without a goodbye if she hadn't been expecting it. She might've even felt victorious over winning that argument if she hadn't known that there was no winner. Kinley didn't win anything there. Macie's opinion hadn't changed; she just decided not to argue about it. Usually Kinley didn't mind -one less person to fight with- but it stung knowing her sister _disapproved_ so much. 

_"You're not ready,"_ was the first thing Macie said when she told them her idea. 

_"You're too young still,"_ she said when Kinley laid down all the details.

It had frustrated her to no end. She wanted to scream at her; wanted to just lay into her how wrong she was; wanted to tell her -in explicit, horrifying, gory detail- just how _ready_ she was. How could she be 'too young still' when she's experienced things Macie could only dream of? Just because her birth year was before Kinley's didn't mean she knew more or knew better. Age didn't mean shit in this family. 

But whatever arguments Kinley could make would never get to see the light of day. For immediately after making such comments, Macie would ghost her and the rest of them for a few days. And that would be that, until the next comment. 

She wondered why Macie even bothered to call to check in on her if she disapproved so much. Why couldn't anyone else (Trenton, Seamus, Michael, _anyone_) have called to check in? At least she and Trenton could've gossiped over Red Robin for a while and mourned the loss of her cup together. 

" 'Move in with Dimitri'," she muttered under her breath and stood up from her crouch (ow, her knees). Picking up her stuff and putting them away was like being on autopilot as she continued to mutter angrily. " 'Focus on other things'. 'Whatever happened to doing everything at once?' 'Why do you need to fix up the apartment?' "

She tossed her brushes into the sink with more force than necessary. "Well maybe I _want_ a damned nice apartment! Maybe I want to fix a place up just the way_ I_ like it, with the furniture_ I_ want, and grow a bunch of plants on the balcony and let the damn things take over like a goddamn jungle!"

"Maybe I want to stay in one place for longer than a year. Did you think of _that_, Mace!" she hammered the lid back onto the stain can," So what if I'm not fully ready yet? I'm halfway there and more than twice ready than you are. If I want to do things at my own pace, I'll _do_ them at my own pace!"

She turned on the faucet and no water came out. "Fuck!" 

Great, now the water was out. Moving to the kitchen, she tried the sink out there. That was running just fine. So it was just the bathroom sink. 

"Now I gotta call a plumber," she grumbled," Probably gonna need to replace the whole thing too-" She stopped short and inhaled sharply. Then her lip quirked. Macie didn't like how much time she was spending on the apartment?

Well la-di-da! Kinley didn't like not having a working sink. In fact, she didn't like that vanity or that countertop. Wasn't a big fan of the color in here either. 

Yep, it was decided. The bathroom was getting remodeled. And she was going to build another table too. A patio one. With two chairs. And a potting bench. 

And _then_ Kinley might consider going out in the city. 

Ten minutes later, while Kinley was having sweet petty revenge sketching out blueprints for a patio table, her phone rang. 

"Hey Dimitri," she answered upon seeing the caller ID," What's up?"

"What did you do?" Didn't even bother with a hello back. 

She put her pencil down. "Did Mace call you?" 

"Trent did," he replied, sounding thoroughly unamused," Said you did something to piss off Macie and asked if I could run over and 'check up on you'." Kinley swore silently at her siblings while Dimitri berated her," I'm at _work_, Kinley. I can't just run over to your place at the drop of a hat. Now if it was a life-or-death emergency, then maybe I could get away with a 'family emergency', but I thought _you_ were the one we called for stuff like that."

"And I know I'm in on some of the family business, but _I'm not a Battaglia_. Just because I'm in the same city as you doesn't mean I'm your handler or whatever your family calls it," he was on a roll, and honestly so was Kinley as she stabbed her notebook in frustration," Or is this some Battaglia thing no one told me about yet? 'Join us and now your responsibility is to keep tabs on Kinley at all times'?"

Kinley slapped her notebook down on the dining table. "Are you done yet?" she asked. 

"Don't make me slap you through this phone," he warned and to be fair, that's what Kinley liked most about him. Dimitri Shukis had one fuck to give and that died out about five years ago. Unlike some of her family, he had no qualms about telling her to fuck off. 

"But yeah, I'm done," he finished, grumpily like an old man. 

"Good, because first of all, remind me to kill my brother and sister," she said in no uncertain terms," because there was _no_ reason they needed to call you. Macie's just throwing a fit because she doesn't like how I do my work. And instead of talking it out with me, she hung up."

"Are you kidding me?!" he groaned, both angry and frustrated," Trent called me because you're fighting with your sister? I don't want to get in the middle of your family drama!"

She didn't blame him. He had enough of it on his own. "And you won't," she promised," That's why I'm going to kill Trent too. Say your goodbyes to him, you're going to be short one friend."

"Get it on camera and I'll publish it." Dimitri also had zero fucks to give for Trent. He was fair like that. 

"Second of all: you are _not_ my handler. I don't _have_ a handler. Never have, never will, and if anyone so much as tries, I'll throw them off a cliff." She was very adamant about that, despite Seamus' freaking _powerpoint_ on why she needed one. "Third of all: does this mean you're accepting our offer? You gonna join the family?"

"Not if I have to deal with this bullshit."

"Touché. And finally: when's your next day off?"

"Tomorrow. Why?"

"Because I may have gotten you an interview with Red Robin."


	13. Interview with a Vampire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And finally: "Why is Dimitri?"
> 
> The awaited Bat-interview is upon us.

"Pinot grigio, Signorina Battaglia," the host spoke smoothly as he poured two glasses of wine," Courtesy of the house."

As he walked away from the table, Dimitri made a face at the host's back. "Free wine? I really hope he doesn't think we're on a date," he said. 

Kinley happily took a sip from her glass. The pinot was good here. "I doubt he thinks that, we're not dressed up enough for a date," she debated, pointing out the fact that they're wearing jeans. Kinley may have a nice lace shirt on, but Dimitri hardly ever wore anything other than novelty T-shirts. Today's shirt said,'** I'm the reason we can't have nice things.'** She wondered if he bought it or if it was a gift. 

"Good," he nodded and took a drink, testing the wine's flavor before swallowing. His expression quirked as he pretended to appraise Kinley. "Because you're really not my type."

"Ouch," she winced even as she was grinning," Wouldn't even play along. Normally you live to mess with people. What's got you so grumpy?"

"I'm always grumpy."

"No, you're not and you know it," she argued," You're extra grumpy today and it's not from yesterday's drama."

"So I'm in a bad mood. It's Gotham. I'm allowed to be in a bad mood."

"Dimitri..."

He glanced up at her from over the top of the menu. Objectively, Dimitri had really pretty blue eyes, framed by dark lashes and dark skin. It was those eyes that entranced a good number of people (Kinley's brother included), pulled them in to do his bidding. All he had to do was peer over that menu or his clasped hands or a book and whoever he aimed those eyes at would be at his mercy.

He knew better than to try that on Kinley.

"Are you okay?"

Down came the menu with a sigh," Aaaaaand there it is." Dimitri was a pro at sounding disgruntled and tired, but his body language he never really got the hang of. He fiddled with the menu, flipping through it without really reading. "I'm frustrated," he admitted after a moment. Kinley liked to think it was because he wanted to be honest with her, but it was more like he just didn't want her to keep asking him. "Work is being hellish right now and some of my coworkers are being real-" he said something in Lithuanian and she had the feeling it wasn't very nice. 

"We're short handed right now, so they pulled me off Music and Arts and put me on gossip rag duty," he complained," And I don't mind writing articles every now and then, but these people are _insufferable_. I don't give a damn how rich George Le Fou IV is or if he's having an affair with the maid while his wife is off in Milan. And here these people are losing their minds over it."

"Let me guess: they just can't understand why you don't get all excited over that?"

A curt nod was enough to emphasize his point. "Do you want to know how many dirty looks I've gotten from Vicki whenever I comment,' So what?'?"

"Are you keeping count?" she asked, grinning because she already knew the answer. 

"Thirty seven," of course he was keeping count," I want to see how long before she has a mental breakdown."

Kinley threw herself back in her chair and lounged comfortably with a laugh. "Diabolical Dimitri. Why are you tormenting the poor woman?"

" 'Poor woman' nothing," he scoffed and took a sip of his wine," She won't leave me alone. You know who I look like, and it sucks big time that he's one of Gotham's hoity-toity rich boys and she wants me to infiltrate some big name family so I can get her some juicy 'secrets'."

"I am _not_ going to infiltrate the elite families for something as trivial as gossip," he exclaimed just as their waiter approached the table. 

Picking up her menu to order, Kinley paused long enough to smile suggestively at Dimitri," Not for that maybe. But would you do it for the family?"

It was the wrong thing to say and that immediately became clear. The corners of his lips took a sharp downward turn and his eyes pinched until he was glaring at her. "Kinley..." he warned.

She made a mental note to never ask him that again. 

"Er..." their waiter looked back and forth between them. The poor boy was visibly shaking, not having the decorum to deal with the tension he'd just walked in on. "Are you ready to order or should I come back?" he asked.

"No, I'm ready," Kinley held up the menu for him to take," I'll have the chicken parmigiana." She smiled sweetly at the boy, but it did nothing to alleviate his nervousness. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Dimitri roll his eyes.

"Same here," he said and handed over his menu as well. 

"They will be out momentarily," the waiter announced then scurried back off to the kitchen, clutching the menus like a lifeline. 

"He's skittish," Dimitri commented dryly. Kinley couldn't help but agree. 

"I'm sorry, by the way," she spoke, much more demurred than she has been with him," I shouldn't have asked you that. You deal with enough crap because of my family."

Dimitri blue eyes were normally cold and calculating, as least as far as she was concerned. That's not to say they weren't right now, but she liked to think she wasn't imagining that flicker of approval in his gaze. He stared at her for a long moment before answering hesitantly," Thank you... for apologizing, I mean. And it's okay, dealing with your family drama is kind of the norm for me now. I knew what I was getting into when I dated your brother."

No, he really hadn't known, no matter what he may say now. "Family drama is one thing," she shook her head," Family business is another. And you're not even dating any of us anymore, we shouldn't keep asking favors of you."

"I suppose I can't really be the one who got away if I keep sticking around," he smiled ruefully, but then got serious again," But seriously, Kin, I stick around and help out because I _want_ to. You know my ethics. You aren't _making_ me do anything. If I didn't want to help every now and then, I could very easily delete your number and never answer my phone."

He could. And the knowledge that he _would_ without qualms or consideration to their feelings made her feel better about their friendship. Knowing that he did so without obligation to her was... a relief, to be honest. 

"And I have not had near enough alcohol for a conversation this sappy," he spoke louder and accented his words with a deep gulp of his wine, finishing off the glass. Kinley laughed (fake and forced as it was) and mirrored his actions. 

"Let's get back to why we're here," he then said," How on earth did you meet Red Robin?"

So she told him the story, up to and including her stolen mug. She even showed him the video and sent it to him as long as he promised to not show his coworkers. "But he needs to counter these rumors going around, or the gangs are going to get out of control," she was telling him," We came up with the idea of a public statement but-"

"-Bats don't do press conferences," they finished at the same time, both equally annoyed.

"Okay," he leaned back in his chair," So you need me to, what? Write an article saying the Hood's not dead? Kin, the PD themselves have been telling everyone he's gone. Vicki's already writing a piece on his disappearance; she won't shut up about it. You yourself said everyone thinks the Bats are in on it. No one's going to believe my word over theirs."

She disagreed," But they might believe Red Robin. Everyone knows he was there. A direct statement from him should do the trick. Maybe even a recording of him telling his side of the story, of what really happened that night. Vicki won't have that."

He thought about it for a moment, liking the idea more and more. "It _would_ knock her off her high horse," he mused," And no one's ever gotten an interview with one of the vigilantes before. Even if it's just a few lines, it'll have a big impact that Red's even willing to do this."

"So you'll do it?"

"Yeah, I'll do it," he nodded," So when and where are we thinking? Your place? Somewhere neutral? I am _not_ going to the park at night."

"Not decided yet. Red said he'd let me know if he decided to go through with it."

Dimitri nodded, accepting her answer," Well I'm not blocking your number yet, so just give me a call when he's ready."

* * *

  
**"Okay, here we go,"** Barbara hummed, her voice calm and clinical in Tim's ear," **Dimitri Shukis: photographer slash reporter for the Gotham Gazette."** Across the comm, Tim could hear her keyboard," **He appears to be on the up and up; no outstanding warrants, no history of jail time, no criminal history at all."**

Well that boded well. He was starting to feel a little bit better about Kinley's suggestion. 

"What else can you tell me?" he asked. 

**"Tim, why don't you just look him up yourself?"** she asked instead,**" You could easily do this, you don't need me to do a background check."**

"Because you're faster than me," he grinned, even though she couldn't see it," And besides..." he tapped away at his own laptop," I'm doing another background check on someone else." There were over twenty Kinley Battaglias, various spellings (how do you even _spell_ Battaglia? Battalia? Bataglia? Battlia?) and he didn't know which one was the right one. 

**"Is this for a case?**" Barbara asked.

He paused. "Not exactly," he told her," I may be talking with him in the future and wanted to know what I'm dealing with when I do."

**"Hmmm,"** she hummed at him, the kind of hum that said she didn't believe him but she'd let him believe she did, for now,"** What do you want to know?"** The fact that she was already willing to go along with it told Tim that she already knew more than she was admitting. 

Tim was not about to look a gift horse in the mouth though. "Could you give me the cliff notes?"

**"Fair enough,"** Barbara sounded really amused by the whole thing,"** Gotham born, dual citizenship: here and Lithuania. He moved over there when he was ten to live with his aunt and uncle. Came back to the states for college."**

Tim was curious. "Raised by his aunt and uncle? What happened to his parents?" 

**"Not sure. There's death certificates for a Mark and Lucille Shukis, died on the same day even, but I can't find anything on the how. Just that they were written up by the city's medical examiner at the time. Reason stated,' Accidental.' "**

_'Accidental death? On the same day? My money's on car crash,'_ Tim betted. **"Custody of their only son went to the closest living relatives, unfortunately out of country,"** Babs read out loud.

_'That... must've sucked,'_ Tim felt bad for little Dimitri. Losing his parents in one go, only to have to leave all your friends and everything you knew behind for a country halfway across the world? What kind of man would that have turned him into?

Guess he would find out soon enough.

"What can you tell me about his credentials?" he asked, not wishing to dwell on it. 

**"This boy's been _everywhere_, I can tell you that,"** she said,**" He was a photographer for National Geographic, traveled all over the States and Europe."** Tim knew that much at least. It was one of the first things that popped up when he initially looked up his name. Dimitri had even gotten to visit CERN to photograph the Hadron Collider. (The details on _those_ pictures had been envy worthy) 

"But what about the security clearance?"

Barbara agreed,"** That _is_ pretty high level for a civilian. He's had access to a lot of secure sites, presumably for his work. CERN, The White House, Pentagon, and who knows where else. Those are places he's published photos from."**

_"I promise on my life, he's trustworthy,"_ Kinley had said. Tim was starting to feel bad for doubting her. 

**"What the hell is a guy like this working for the Gazette?"** Babs wondered out loud.

"He came home," Tim mumbled, more to himself than in reply to her," Been all around the world, then came back home to Gotham. He didn't care where he was working." Still, Dimitri was proving to be just as much a mystery as Kinley.

(If he could narrow down which one was her. He finally found the correct spelling, narrowed down the age range, but there were still at least 9 of them! All with varying addresses, none of which in Gotham. He swore at least five of these had to be decoys.)

**"Funny how this city does that,"** she mused in agreement,"** I'll send you what I have and you can skim through it la- _Oh my god."_**

She cut off so abruptly that Tim felt his heart skip a beat. "Barbara?" he called out nervously," Barbara, you okay?" Oh god, please don't tell him someone broke into the Clocktower. If something happened to-

_**"Tim!"**_ she yelled in his ear. To his utter bafflement, she sounded... excited? **"Tim, look! Look at your computer, right now!"**

He did, and a message popped up from her. A click later and a picture went full screen on his laptop. "It's a picture of Dick," he deadpanned," Barbara why are you-"

**"That's not Dick!"**

"...What?"

**"That's him! That's a picture of Dimitri Shukis!"** she laughed, sounding for all the world like someone told her her the funniest joke in the history of jokes," **Oh my god, this is too perfect. Dick has a twin!"**

A... long lost twin? That wasn't possible. But even as he denied it, there -shoved in his face- was a picture telling him otherwise. There was Dick's perfectly even smile (though not quite as happy), there was Dick's long straight nose, his baby blue eyes, his jawline, his unruly black hair...

But those weren't Dick's cheekbones; not Dick's glasses sitting on the tip of his nose looking very much like Clark Kent; not Dick's deep purple scar on his right jawline. "That is uncanny," he breathed, unable to look away. It was like someone put Dick's picture in an editing program, then changed things around just enough to make you look twice. Or thrice. Or stare for a solid minute. 

Still... there was no way Dick had a twin... Right?

* * *

Dimitri's apartment was in the Upper East Side, not too far from Coventry. There was a risk -a small one- of Tim being seen breaking into an apartment by Batgirl, but the calculated odds were in his favor. This was a low crime area (if such a thing existed in Gotham) so there was low need for patrols on this street. Just to be sure, he set out at 8pm. Too early for a Bat to be out on patrol, too far away from Duke's stomping grounds, and just early enough for a reporter to be getting off from work at the Gazette. 

It wasn't too late in the day though, he realized when he saw the apartment in question still dark. There wasn't a single light was on; Dimitri must not be back yet. Not too unusual for a reporter to stay out late. Tim had time, he could wait for him to get back. 

"What am I doing here?" he grumbled to himself while he picked the lock on the window," I'm going to be disowned after this." It was bad enough he was breaking into a reporter's home to talk to him, but it was even worse that he was doing it for an _interview_.

"If Dick hadn't-," he popped open the latch,"- been such a _dick_, I wouldn't have to do this." The window slid open silently. "And Batman's no fucking help," he continued as he dropped down into the living room," Seriously? Just _letting_ those stupid rumors run? What was he thinking? That everyone would just forget in a week?" He closed the window, careful not to lock it and delay his escape route should he need one. 

"If I catch any flak over this, I'm going to San Francisco and not coming back for-" he turned around," -_Goddamnit_!"

Dimitri Shukis sat in the burrow of his couch, _completely in the dark,_ with his chin resting on his fist. 

He looked 100% unamused. 

"Are you kidding me?" Tim despaired. First Kinley, now her friend? "I thought you weren't home yet," he scolded (yes, he scolded the man who's home he was breaking in to)," _Why_ are you sitting in the dark?"

Dimitri didn't move. "Like you're one to talk," he drawled," and obviously I need to get better security."

He... had an accent, was the first and foremost thing Tim focused on. It was minor, and didn't make it difficult to distinguish his words, but it was there. "Mind telling me why you're sneaking in to my apartment?" he continued, not even bothering to get up from his spot," Because you don't strike me as the burglary type. That's more of Catwoman's thing."

"Umm..." Tim floundered for words because holy crap, this guy was being just so nonchalant about this! Wouldn't you expect someone to be freaking out if a vigilante busted into your place in the dark? Unless... "Kinley told you I'd be dropping in, didn't she?"

"Actually, you were supposed to call her first, then I'd just meet you somewhere," Dimitri shrugged," But you're a Bat, so I'm not surprised you decided to break in. You guys wouldn't know a warrant if it bit you in the ass." There was an insult in there somewhere, Tim could sense it. 

But he didn't come here to trade barbs with a sassy reporter. "So you know why I'm here," he said and stepped away from the window," Could we turn on some lights please?"

Even in the dark, Tim could see Dimitri's face as he thought it over. "I'm half surprised you want light. I thought you Bats were all allergic to it," he remarked even as he rolled off the couch to flip on the lamp. Tim could see now how he was friends with Kinley.

So goddamn _sassy_.

"We're not vampires," he argued. 

Dimitri turned around and made a show of looking him over. Even in his Red Robin costume (_Suit_! It was a _suit_!), Tim felt like he was being peered at under a microscope. "Covered head to toe, an affinity for black and red," Dimitri began listing off," You only come out at night, and oh..." A row of perfect white teeth flashed in a wicked smile. 

_"You're dressed like a bat."_

"I am not dressed like a bat!" He wasn't. Tim was very specific about not putting anything bat-related on his suit when he designed it.

"Alright then, Dr. Mid-Nite."

Yeah, that comparison wasn't going away anytime soon. Tim made a mental note to also keep this one far away from Stephanie. "I'm starting to regret listening to Kinley's advice," he grumbled. Dimitri threw him a commiserative look. 

"Welcome to the club," he called out and moved to the kitchen. Tim made to follow but paused when he noticed Dimitri had a significant limp. He wondered where it came from. But Dimitri did not stop or slow down, disappearing into the kitchen so Tim followed after. "Anyone who catches the attention of the Battaglias usually ends up regretting it," Dimitri was saying, tapping the light switch as he passed it. 

On the table sat a black leather duffle bag, into which he dug around in. He paid no mind to Tim as he watched him pull out the tools of his trade: a notebook and pen, tape recorder, and a Pentax 645Z Tim would die to get his hands on. Barring the camera though, he thought over Dimitri's words. 

"Should I be...worried?" he asked. He didn't _think_ Kinley was part of a crime family, but she _was_ just on this side of peculiar. And he still had no luck finding anything about her history. There was a Kinley Battaglia from Venice. One from San Juan. Another Sweden. Two more from the States. One from Greece. A Parisian and even a Canadian. He had been wracking his brain for any hint she might've given him, where she came from before Gotham, but the Kinleys he had discovered all had such contradicting backgrounds. A security guard? A secretary for a Fortune 500 company? A bakery shop owner? A botanist?

At the trepidation in his voice, Dimitri glanced up. There was an unreadable expression on his face, well and truly blank. Tim's best guess was that he was trying to decide on whether or not to be honest with him. "Only if you don't want to be pulled in to the family drama," he said after much thought," One minute you're dating the semi-normal guy from media communications class, the next you've got thirteen elders asking which Battaglia adopted you or which branch you've married in to and then all of a sudden you have half a dozen siblings." 

Tim _did_ have half a dozen siblings, but he wasn't going to tell Dimitri that. "Sounds... crazy," he commentated. 

"You don't know the half of it," he sighed and plopped down at the table, motioning for Tim to take a seat. After a moment of consideration (this whole conversation was just _weird_) he sat opposite the reporter. 

The tape recorder sat between them, untouched. 

"But you're not here to hear about the Battaglias," Dimitri switched over to what Tim could only assume to be his professional voice. It was a little unsettling, for sure. This whole time he kept focus on the fact that this was Dimitri Shukis, not Dick Grayson. That this wasn't his brother's face staring at him from across the table. In the half light of the night, he looked even more like Dick.

But when Dimitri spoke in that calm tone, that soft accented voice surely meant to put people at ease, he couldn't be any further from Dick. And it wasn't just the accent.

"You're here because you have a story to tell."

(Because Tim had come to a stranger with this problem and not the family.)

"Know what you're going to say?" he double checked, one hand paused over the recorder," Because once I start this, a copy is automatically uploaded to a private server."

One part of Tim thought it strange for a reporter to be considerate enough to ask him that. Another part of him wondered just how and _why_ all recordings were automatically uploaded to a private server. Did he have a lot of conversations that he didn't want to risk getting erased? 

_'Focus, Tim. Remember why you're even talking to this guy,'_ he had to remind himself.

He took a deep breath and nodded. "Let's do this."


	14. Death of a Villain

**'Death of the Red Hood!'**

**'Gotham can rest easy knowing that one of the criminal lords that once had ambitions of a criminal empire has been struck down on the night of May 3rd, 2020. Five years ago, the Red Hood descended upon Gotham City in a rampage of blood, fear, and-'**

Tim stared at the headline for a solid five minutes, hoping that maybe he had just forgotten how to read and was seeing this wrong. But no, he had had his first cup of coffee a half hour ago and was very much wide awake. The front page of the Gotham Gazette remained the same. 

_'What the hell, Dimitri?!'_ he screamed in his mind,_' You said you'd help me fix this! Not make it worse!'_

Then he read who wrote the article and while he was still a little angry with the Lithuanian, he was not to blame. Goddamn Vicki Vale... Tim slapped the newspaper down on the counter, beyond irritated with the situation. He hasn't had near enough coffee yet to deal with this. 

"Master Timothy, if you would be so kind as to not throw the newspaper around," Alfred scolded from over by the stove. 

Had it been literally anyone else, Tim would've slapped the paper down a second time. But this was Alfred and he just had too much respect for the man who could put up with all of them. Instead, he held up the paper for Alfred to see. "Actually, I'd rather rip it to shreds, Alf," he commented," Or burn it to ashes."

The butler's eyes skimmed over the paper and noticed the title," Oh dear."

'Oh dear,' was right. This was turning into a disaster and if Red Robin was having trouble with Crime Alley before, it would be ten times worse going forward. With the police themselves claiming this side of things, people were more likely to believe it. (Tim made a mental note to have a talk with Commissioner Gordon about his people spreading this lie)

He had half a mind to go have a _talk_ with Dimitri too. That was the whole point of the interview two nights ago, to nip this in the bud before it got out of hand. Why the hell had Dimitri let Vicki publish this? Why not put a stop to all this, publish Red Robin's statement within the day and get a head start on it? 

But he would have to wait for night before confronting the reporter. 

"Master Bruce will want to see this," Alfred spoke, a grim look on his face as he took the paper from Tim. With every pass of his eyes over the words, his frown deepened. 

"Father will want to see what?"

Great, just was Tim needed: the Demon Brat lauding over Jason's supposed death. "The mess he and Dick made," he snapped at Damian," and are doing nothing to fix." That was hardly fair to Dick; he couldn't have known about the rumors, having gone back to Blud a week after the jailbreak. Tim could still blame him for chasing Jason out of Gotham in the first place though.

But Bruce... _he_ knew about the rumors, there was no way he didn't. And just like in the cave where Dick fought Jason, he stood by and did nothing. 

Damian took the paper from Alfred and skimmed the front page. To Tim's confusion, the brat did not gloat. He did not smile, he did not insult Jason and suggest "Good riddance." Instead, he looked... worried?

"Drake, explain this to me," he snapped at Tim," How could they print this drabble when it is not true? Todd is not dead." He would've looked haughty and disdainful if Tim hadn't seen the pinch between Damian's brows. 

For whatever reason, Damian was _upset_ by the article. 

Before Tim could question it, Alfred spoke up," I'm afraid the press does not always do its research before publishing, Master Damian. They were misinformed."

"It looks like they did plenty of research," Damian retorted, speed reading through the article," The Gotham City Police are releasing statements that 'the Red Hood is indubitably gone', there was an 'unidentified corpse cremated at the city morgue that matched the Red Hood's physical description', and supposedly his 'safehouse was burned down the night of his demise in an attempt to erase evidence'?" He lowered the paper to leer at them," How would they know it's his safehouse?" 

Tim tried to pluck the paper out of his hands, but Damian snatched it away with a glare. "That's what you focus on?" he snarled back, reaching again for the Gazette," Not the body or the police telling everyone Jason's dead?" He gave up on getting the paper and glared at his younger brother," Because that's what everyone thinks: that Jason died and we couldn't be bothered to have a funeral for him and instead let them burn the body without any deco-"

"Master Timothy!" / "HE'S NOT DEAD!"

Tim froze as they both yelled at him at the same time. Alfred in his scandalized, scolding voice that made you feel two inches tall. And Damian in a... well, to be honest he sounded slightly panicked. 

Had he sounded just like that when he yelled that same thing at Kinley?

"Umm, everything okay in here?" Duke poked his head in through the door, a worried look on his face," I heard yelling." 

Damian shoved the paper under Duke's nose. "The incompetents at that subpar newspaper are printing lies about Todd," he huffed. He was back to sounding haughty and arrogant, but Tim just couldn't forget that panicky,"_ He's not dead!"_ from just a second earlier. "It's preposterous they think he could be killed by the likes of Killer Croc. As much shame as he brings to the Wayne name, Todd is still League trained." He sat down in a huff at the table, hand reaching for a piece of toast and chewing on it angrily.

_'That was... almost a compliment on Jason's skills,'_ Tim thought. 

Taking the newspaper that had been shoved into his chest, Duke read over the article himself. "What the fuck, what the fuck..." he muttered, getting louder with every paragraph," What the fuck?"

"Language, Master Duke," Alfred scolded.

"Sorry, Alfred," he apologized but then waved the paper around," But this is seriously messed up. Everyone really thinks he died in the Arkham breakout."

Even Alfred could not contain his grim frown," I will admit, the GCPD so readily claiming Master Jason's death is worrisome."

Duke sighed and his forehead made a thudding sound against the table as he laid his head down. "This is so messed up, man," he groaned," Does anyone else realize we might have a bunch of people going after Killer Croc for this? Sure Vicki Vale might hate his guts or something, but the last time I said something bad about the Red Hood in front of someone from Crime Alley, I got a can of soup thrown at my head."

"No one's going after Killer Croc for it," Tim argued. 

"Huh?"

"The body was marked..." Tim said quietly. He stared down at the table, remembering the little tid-bit of information Kinley had mentioned to him. Duke, Damian, and Alfred paused to stare at him.

"What do you mean, Tim?" Duke asked, sitting up. He suddenly had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. 

"The body was marked," he repeated, his voice quiet and ashamed," It's not in the article, but the body they burned had a... calling card of sorts on it. They don't think Waylon Jones killed him."

They all looked at him expectantly. Tim personally felt like there was a 5 lb weight sitting in his gut right now. 

"They think _we_ did it."

There was a moment of silence as everyone absorbed his words. Then the kitchen erupted in a cacophony of noise. "WHAT?!"

* * *

"-ou would do such a thing! Do you have any idea what this will do to my reputation?! We're supposed to be a team and-"

Forty one. 

Dimitri finally got his answer to how many times he had to say," So what?" before Vicki Vale had a mental breakdown. And a vocal one too. Forty one times she was annoyed with Dimitri before she started screaming at him. 

Granted this fit was partially caused by Dimitri _destroying_ her latest story within a day, but he liked to think it was his winning personality that earned her ire. Alright, it was mostly his actions. But to be fair, he had fun oblitering her reputation. 

Maybe now she would leave him the fuck alone and stop asking him to infiltrate Wayne Enterprises. 

_("Diabolical Dimitri," Kinley had called him when her told her his plan, handing over her own findings with a grin," I love it.")_

"You _knew_ I was working the Red Hood story!" Vicki screeched at him," If you had relevant information, you should've told me!" 

Hah, 'relevant information'. Dimitri did his best not to look smug as he swung his feet up on his desk. Trent had told him he looks like a major douche whenever he does it, but oddly enough he's okay with that. "Last I checked, you're not my boss and I don't have to give you my leads," he said," And besides, all of this came to me very recently." He held up his hands in mock innocence," I can't help it you were so gun-ho about publishing your story."

Her face almost matched her hair color. "Very convenient," she snarled back at him in a sarcastic tone," You just _happened_ to get an exclusive interview with Red Robin. How long ago was this 'interview'?"

"Recent," he shrugged. Not like he was lying, it was recent. A few days, but it had taken a while to get the higher ups of Gotham Gazette to take him seriously. If Vicki Vale chose to believe it was only last night, then who was he to correct her?

"You just _happened_ to get him to pose for photos?"

That had been fun. Dimitri had never climbed up his fire escape to the roof before. And if he had to aim a few middle fingers Red Robin's way when he smiled at his stumbling, then the vigilante deserved all of them.

"And you just _happened_ to get pictures of Red Hood in Germany this morning?"

Last night, actually. Dimitri hadn't known it at the time of the interview, but Kinley had taken it upon herself to find the Hood after meeting Red Robin. Dimitri didn't know the specifics and he didn't _want_ to know the specifics, but basically she'd put out the Battaglia equivalent of an APB on anything Red Hood related. It had taken a few days, but the family had come through for her. 

Luckily for them, a second cousin from Venice had been on vacation in Germany when there was a freak accident in Denkendorf. Eventually, a picture of the Red Hood dismantling a robotic stegosaurus found its way back to Kinley. Who then forwarded it to Dimitri last night at approximately 11PM. 

He specifically remembered cheering into his coffee this morning when he saw the time stamp for May 12th. Nine days after his supposed 'death'. It was perhaps one of the few times he happily exploited the vast Battaglia family tree. If only to put that expression on Vicki's face. 

"Yes, just like that," he nodded to her accusations, sipping his coffee. Vicki seethed, but really couldn't argue. After all, it made their editor positively _giddy_ after she got the photos and recordings from Dimitri. For a price, of course. 

"All of this just to get reassigned?" Vicki demanded through gritted teeth," Did you even care about the story or finding the truth?"

Dimitri shrugged again and wondered if he should count it as number forty two. 

He was being smug about it. Dimitri knew that. He also did not care. Just the sight of Vicki pinching the bridge of her nose and trying very hard not to yell at him was enough. "How long did you know the Red Hood was alive?" she asked. 

Dimitri very calmly sipped his coffe and took a moment to enjoy the scent of its fresh brew. Mm, hazelnut. "Three days."

"DIMITRI, YOU ASS!"

* * *

_'What a shitshow of a day,'_ Jim thought once the door closed behind Officer Peterson,'_ This whole week, actually.'_ Already he could feel the headache building behind his eyes and he took his glasses off to rub at them. 

"Commissioner."

Gah, he should've expected this. Jim didn't have to look to know who it was standing behind him. "I suppose you're here about this," he sighed and held up the newspaper Officer Peterson had just dropped off. The words _**'Death of the Red Hood!'**_ were splashed across the front, obvious even from across the room. Gordon hadn't even had his first cup of coffee before Peterson had walked in with it. ("Thought you should see this," he'd said, placing the paper on his desk with a frown.)

"Just tell me one thing, Batman," he put his glasses back on and swiveled his chair around to look at the man," The kid's alive, right? He's not actually... you know."

"He's not dead," Batman growled.

Good. That was... good. A weight he hadn't even realized was there lifted from Jim's chest and suddenly he felt like he could breathe. The kid was a pain in the ass but the Red Hood was still just a kid. As much as Gordon had once hated what he was doing, he had to admit... Red Hood had a good influence on Crime Alley. Gotham had enough heroes; despite what Batman might say, Gotham needed an outlaw. 

Gordon blew out a breath and put the paper back down on the desk. "Good," he breathed," Mind telling where he is?" 

Batman hesitated only a second, but Jim knew that wasn't a good sign. "We're looking."

_'They're looking,'_ Jim thought,'_ Means the Bats don't even know where he is. Great.'_

The big shadow of a man stepped forward and grabbed the newspaper. "I'm more concerned as to why your department is telling reporters that he's dead. An unidentified body is still unidentified; they can't just assume it's the Red Hood's."

"You know..." Gordon hummed," I was just wondering the same thing."

"Got the autopsy reports?"

Gordon turned back to his desk and turned on his computer. A bunch of emails popped up, but not the one he wanted. "Not yet, still waiting to hear back from the Medical Examiner. It's his day off supposedly and only his intern is there today, but he doesn't have the authorization to release documentation..." he trailed off and sighed," You're gone already, aren't you?"

Silence answered him.

* * *

One day, Bruce will probably tell Gordon how easy it is to break into the Records Dept of Gotham General. One day. But in the meantime, he would enjoy the ease in which he could access files and records without having to wait for red tape. With over fifteen years of practice, Bruce was old hat at this by now and practically strolled into the Medical Examiners office. 

There had been nothing filed under Hood, Red or otherwise, so now he was looking in the file cabinets under the John Does. It was... disturbing how many there were. Luckily, the doctor was meticulous in his organization and they were all organized according to date. 

There was only one John Doe from May 4th. A day off, but Bruce reckoned they probably hadn't found the body until the day after the breakout. 

And when he opened the file and saw the first photo of the body, he knew there was something else at play here.

* * *

"The body was staged."

Jim looked up from the ground when he heard Batman speak behind him. Taking one last look at the dirty concrete (there was nothing left there anyways), he straightened up and turned to face the vigilante himself. "Figured you'd show up here sooner or later," he shrugged his shoulders.

From all his asking around today, it honestly sounded like it was pure misunderstanding on his officers' parts. Someone at the morgue had commented on the body's injuries, another had commented that it was a big guy, then a week later someone made note that the Red Hood was gone. A giant game of telephone; a shitty one at that, but just a case of the telephone game gone wrong. 

But Batman didn't seem to think so. From the folds of his cape, he produced a series of photographs. "You didn't tell me about the B," he said. 

Ah, yes. The B. That part hadn't been in the paper, for which Jim was eternally grateful. As much as Officers Henrickson and Teng had been idiots to speak with Vale in the first place, they hadn't told her much about the body beyond that it reminded them of the Red Hood. 

The B being the mysterious letter carved onto the dead man's chest, deep and clean and clear as day. 

_'B for Batman,'_ Teng had joked, not realizing the implications of what he had just said. 

"Honestly, I didn't know about it until I talked with my men," Jim answered," A couple of idiots that are now on suspension, but I'm kind of pissed this is the first I'm hearing about it." Batman held the photographs out to him (and he was _not_ going to ask how he got these, besides they were probably copies anyways and he had the originals back wherever he kept the rest of his Batman stuff) and he looked them over. 

"I can see why you think it was staged," he agreed, but frowned," But I can also see why they thought this was the kid."

The pictures were not pretty. Gordon didn't know the Red Hood nor what he looked like, but he did remember him when he was a kid, another Robin jumping around and laughing as he kicked people in the face. He was a good kid, even if he wasn't exactly a kid anymore, and Jim wouldn't wish this fate on anyone. 

Whoever this man was, this mysterious body, he had gone through the wringer. The first thing Jim saw was the bloody mess where the face used to be. Something or someone (and he didn't want to imagine _what_) had completely obliterated the front half of the skull. Either in attempt to hide his identity, or to ensure that they couldn't be 100% sure on it at all. 

Then there was the series of massive gashes along the torse, the arms, everywhere really. All three lines parallel, long and deep. Claw marks. And finally, the deep purple ring underneath the man's jaw, stretching from one side to the next. 

Death by strangulation. 

Ignoring the evidence of murder (either by Killer Croc or someone else) the body did look somewhat similar to the Hood. Whoever this man was in life, he was big. Big and brawny and had the same messy dark hair that every Robin ever had. 

A part of Gordon wanted to sadly ask Batman if he was 100% sure this wasn't his boy. The body had been burned so there was no DNA evidence, dentals had been impossible to get, and the man himself had said they didn't know where the Red Hood was. 

It wouldn't be the first time a father's refused to believe his child was dead.

"The similarity is uncanny," he had to say. 

"They were wrong," Batman growled. 

Gordon held up his hand in defense," I'm not saying it's him. I'm just saying I can understand why people thought it was."

The frown on Batman's face was dark and fierce and nothing Jim's never seen before. "Hood has a scar on his chest," he relented," This body does not."

There was a lot of wounds on the John Doe's chest. "What kind of scar?" Jim asked. 

If it was possible, Batman's frowned deepened. "The kind you can't miss," he said," It's big and... memorable."

Huh, so the kid had some big scar on his chest? Jim almost wanted to keep pressing, but if the Batman so adamant on keeping it secret, then he wasn't going to keep bugging him about it. 

"Alright," he shrugged," So someone tried their hardest to make this body look like he was the Red Hood, but didn't know enough to know he had a recognizable mark on his body. The question is who and why?"

"The B worries me," Batman admitted," Why go to all this length to make it look he was attacked by Killer Croc? Then put that mark on his chest?"

_'And what does it stand for? Could Teng be right and it really is B for Batman?'_ Jim wondered. Out loud, he commented," It could be someone calling you out. A threat against you and your own; kill someone who looks enough like one of your kids, then put the B there so you know it's a message for you."

If Batman paled under his cowl, Jim really couldn't tell. But he knew that if someone had done the same thing to him, killed a woman who looked remarkedly like Barbara and put the letter G on the body... he'd be feeling pretty concerned and would be calling her up every hour of the night to make sure she was safe. 

"There are some who think it's a calling card," Batman said quietly. 

"A calling card?"

"A signature," he said," This body was staged to make it look like _I_ killed him."


	15. A Global Effort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim and Dimitri have a little talk

This time, he made sure the apartment was empty when he came through the window. It was dark -again- but there was no Dimitri sitting in the living room or kitchen. One of the doors led to his bedroom; he was also not there. Tim did make note of the tasteful dark furniture and the writing desk under the large window. And the other door led to an actual dark room. (Tim had to talk himself out of exploring that one further. But still: _a dark room_. Dimitri developed his own film!)

Satisfied that this time no one would get the jump on him, he took a seat facing the front door. Then he sent a text to Dimitri's phone. 

_"We need to talk."_

It took him a couple minutes to respond. According to Tim's estimation, he should be heading home from the Gazette right about now actually. 

_"If this is is a Battaglia: fuck off. If this is an emergency: you know who to call. If this is Vicki Vale: also fuck off."_

Had Tim not been so annoyed with Dimitri, he would've found this funny. He's not sure what Kinley's family did to annoy him, or what Vicki Vale did to get on his bad side, but sooner or later he'd find out. Right after Dimitri explained just _why_ he let the Gazette print that article about Jason's 'death'.

_"This is about you not keeping your word,"_ he texted back,"_ Why did you let that article print?"_ Tim could only hope the words conveyed his ire.

This time, the reply came back instantly._ "You're at my apartment, aren't you?"_

_"Yes."_

_"Fuck. Off."_ Definitely in a mood tonight. 

_"No."_

No reply came after that, but that was okay. Tim could wait. Dimitri would have to come home eventually.

* * *

Because he was a normal person and not because he wanted to prove he wasn't a vampire/bat/whatnot hybrid, Tim had the lights on at a comfortable setting. While it would've been fun to reverse their first meeting and hide out in the dark like most Bats, Tim had already let slip that he was waiting at the apartment. Besides, the lamp gave him enough light to look (read: snoop) around the living room a bit. 

Dimitri was a little messy and had a deep love of pasta, determined by the cupboard filled with boxes of various pasta and sauce. 

Tim was considering the ramifications of going through the bedroom to see what he could find when the sound of keys jangled outside, signalling Dimitri's return. He rushed back to his prior seat and settled into what he hoped to be a nonchalant but authoritative position. Just as Tim propped one foot up on his knee and steepled his fingers, the door opened. 

It was all in vain. Dimitri was completely unfazed when his eyes landed on the vigilante sitting in his living room, not even the tiniest bit surprised. There was a long suffering sigh and then he straight up ignored him. Walked right past Red Robin with his thudding limp just to drop his duffel bag on the adjacent chair, then waltzed back in to the kitchen. 

Tim cleared his throat. Loudly. 

"Fuck off, I'm hungry!" echoed from the kitchen, followed by the fridge opening. 

He was.... _what_? What was going... Tim could only stare in disbelief in the general direction of the kitchen. Was he being ignored in favor of _food_?! There indeed was some rustling, the chink of cutlery and plates, then the microwave. 

Dimitri poked his head out of the kitchen. Tim returned his glare with a dark look of his own. Still no effect though as the reporter disappeared back into the kitchen. "Really?" Tim said," The silent treatment?" It was almost juvenile. 

The other man didn't answer. 

"You forget I work with Batman!" Tim called out," Your sullen and angry has _nothing_ on his sullen and angry."

Still no reply. 

"I can wait here all night! I'm _going_ to get an explanation before I leave." He could do it too. After this morning's debacle, Bruce insisted he take a night off. Something about getting too affected by "mere rumors" and that even the article couldn't do much damage. Tim yelled at him for a bit, throwing in Bruce's face that no one looked after Crime Alley's residents anymore. That maybe the people weren't all that wrong to not trust the Batman anymore. One thing had led to another... and Tim stormed out of the Manor with the words that he wasn't coming back until this mess was fixed. Which mess: he didn't specify. 

It wasn't even an hour later that he got a text from Cass. _"Steph and I patrol Crime Alley tonight."_ Had it been anyone else, Tim would've been mad and started yelling again. But this was Cass and Steph. If he could trust anyone to take care of Jason's territory while he was gone, it would be them. So their text was met with a sigh of relief, a _'Thanks'_ and plans were made to interrogate Dimitri Shukis. 

Said interrogation wasn't going near as well as he'd hoped. It was actually going as strangely as their first meeting had gone. Add Tim's bad mood from this morning and Dimitri's grumpiness and this was going to be a combustible mix at best. Dimitri was being stubborn and uncooperative and Tim was contemplating going with further interrogation tactics. 

Maybe hang him outside the window for a minute or two?

But then the smell of whatever food he was heating up started to waft through the apartment. Tim frowned when he heard his stomach start to grumble. The last he'd eaten was this morning and that had only been a bagel. 

There was some more clattering in the kitchen, then Dimitri emerged holding two plates. He didn't say anything about it as he put the second plate on the coffee table before taking his spot on the couch. No explanation was given; he just settled into the corner of the sofa and balanced his own plate on his knees. 

_'Is the second plate... for me?"_ Tim looked between the plate and Dimitri, trying to ignore the smell of chicken alfredo and his own growling stomach. 

The reporter took a couple bites of his food, watching him with a sour look on his face. "If you don't want it, don't eat it," he grumbled. 

It did smell good...and Tim _was_ hungry... It was at that moment his stomach decided to make its loudest growl. There was a snort from the couch corner, but no words spoken as Dimitri quickly stuffed more pasta into his mouth. With cheeks extremely warm under the cowl and hoping the mask went low enough to cover it, Tim reached for the second plate. 

So sue him, he skipped supper today. 

"I didn't know she was going to do it today."

"Hmm?" Tim glanced up after his first bite of food. It had been quiet, but he swore he heard Dimitri mumble something into his pasta. 

"Vicki," he clarified louder," I didn't know she was going to publish the article today, or else I would've warned you."

Oh, so he was finally going to talk? Tim lowered his fork and asked," You knew what she was writing, didn't you?"

There was a pause as Dimitri chewed around a forkful of noodles. "No one really knew the details, just that she was investigating the Red Hood's disappearance. But yeah, I figured she'd follow along with the whole dead theory."

"So why didn't you _stop_ her?"

For some reason, Dimitri looked hesitant to answer. "I need a drink for this," he suddenly jumped up. He started making his way back to the kitchen but soon found Red Robin blocking his path. 

"Answer the question, Shukis."

The two of them glared at each other a moment or two, willing to see who would break first. Dimitri lost. "I thought I had more time, that a day or two wouldn't hurt," he sighed, more tired and frustrated than anything," I needed to use it for leverage first. Happy now?"

"Ecstatic," Tim deadpanned," Leverage for what?"

Dimitri neatly stepped around him. "I'm a photographer, not a reporter. But they put me with the investigative journalists hoping to use my... resources."

He didn't even have to guess twice. "Your security clearance."

Dimitri looked almost proud. "Got it in one." He continued on to the kitchen, Red Robin following closely. "I hated it," he explained as he opened a cupboard only to scowl upon not finding what he wanted," Do you have any idea how often I've been asked to get someone else into a secure building? Or how many times Vicki's suggested I 'poke around the family's business just to see what we find'?" He impersonated Vicki's accent perfectly. 

Judging by Dimitri's... particular looks, Tim knew he meant Wayne Enterprises. He tried not to let it show, but it actually terrified him. If Dimitri wanted to, _really_ wanted to, he could very easily waltz into any Wayne property and pretend to be Dick Grayson. Accent be damned; he easily could fake a Gotham one. 

Ignorant or oblivious to Tim's growing concern, Dimitri was now digging in the fridge. "So I decided to bribe them with your interview. A first ever Bat interview, top of the line photos of you," he straighted up and pointed what looked to be a beer bottle in his direction," and they couldn't resist. I get them off my back, I go back to what I love doing, and in return I don't send the evidence to the Daily Planet."

Extortion, echoed in Tim's mind, a damn good one at that. Dimitri was right, he had a hell of a card to play and the editors at Gotham Gazette probably would've given him anything for it. So why settle for just a department transfer?

"Plus, you know," Dimitri shrugged while twisting the top off the bottle (a hard cider, not beer like Tim originally thought)," I got to really piss off Vale."

"Hah!" Tim let out a laugh. Sounds like those two really did not get along. 

"The article's set to be printed tomorrow morning." Dimitri leaned against the counter and eyed Red Robin like he was waiting for a reaction. Approval, or scorn? 

Tim couldn't tell what he was expecting, but- "The damage is already done," he pointed out," Vicki's story is out and that's what people will believe. People know she finds every minute detail, and it looks like she's got a lot of evidence, both from the GCPD and morgue."

"At best, everyone will think it's a matter of he-said-she-said. And I have no evidence I'm willing to share. At worst, they'll think we're just trying to cover it up."

Dimitri was undeterred. "Yeah, Vale's got statements from the police -might want to check in on that by the way- and some city hall documents," he said," But you know what they say: a picture's worth a thousand words."

Tim frowned. "The pictures you took were to prove the information came from me and not made up," he argued," They don't prove anything about Hood."

That sharp little grin was back. "Who said it was a picture of you?" Dimitri teased as he stepped around him, one hand holding his drink and heading back to their food. 

"Then who..." Tim frowned, turning to follow his movement," Wait! You've got a picture of Red Hood?!"

"Alive and well and having fun with dinosaurs."

Tim was near desperate and tried not to show it," Show me."

He relented without a fuss, setting his drink down and unzipping his bag. By the time Tim was across the room, he had a folder in hand. Dimitri handed it over without much preamble. "It's a copy of what tomorrow's article looks like." Tim snatched it out of his hands, no longer caring if he seemed rude or desperate. 

_He found Jason._

For weeks, Tim's been worried, wondering what happened to him. If he got out of Gotham safe; if he went back to his Outlaw team; if he was hunkering down in a safe house somewhere. No one had been able to find him, leaving Tim to assume the worst. 

He flipped open the folder and there it was... An 8x10, glossy and freshly printed. It was a photograph of Red Hood riding on top of a rampaging stegosaurus, one hand hanging on for dear life while the other tore out electrical cables and wires. It wasn't crystal clear -taken from a phone?- but he would recognize that red helmet and leather jacket anywhere. 

_He found Jason._

"How?" How had Dimitri found him in two days when Tim couldn't in weeks?

Said man only took a swig of his drink and settled back onto the sofa. "Kinley," was all he said. 

_'I should've known.'_

"How?" he demanded again.

"I don't know if I mentioned this last time, but the Battaglia family is... big," Dimitri continued," Global, in fact. After whatever talk you had with Kinley, she put out a message: keep an eye out for the Red Hood."

Tim looked at him warily," And they did? In a matter of four days?" The more he learned about Kinley and her family, the more red flags kept going up in his head. 

The corner of Dimitri's mouth quirked up. "It's a _really_ big family," he said," Give them a target and they'll come through for you."

The phrasing 'target' is what grabbed Tim's attention. He lowered the photo and peered at Dimitri with keen eyes," Why do you say it like that?"

Dimitri's blue eyes flashed back at him, looking so so _so_ much like Dick in that one look. "It's exactly how it sounds," he said," You give them a target, in this case find the Red Hood, and they'll be falling over themselves to complete it."

Yeah, that didn't sound ominous at all. "Just like that?" Tim's eyebrow went up, even if Dimitri couldn't see it," Just because Kinley asked pretty please?"

"_Especially_ because Kinley asked."

Yep, Dimitri wasn't even trying to sound subtle anymore. He looked almost expectantly at Red Robin as he shoveled another bite of pasta in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully as the vigilante thought over his words. "Dimitri..." Tim growled at him," You better be fucking honest with me right now: Are the Battaglias a crime family?"

There was a tightening in his face, a certain pinching of his mouth, but Tim didn't know enough about body language to know exactly what it meant. "I can 100% tell you they are not a crime family," he said after a minute. 

That really didn't make Tim feel better though. "But they're not entirely normal, are they?"

This time, the tightening in Dimitri's face was definitely a look of amusement," Not even close."

"So what _are_ they?"

The Lithuanian looked almost apologetic as he answered," I can't tell you that."

Alright, now Tim was getting mad. " You can't or you won't?" he asked, nearly seething. 

"Won't."

"Well why the hell not?"

Dimitri, the ass, stopped himself from answering by taking a rather large bite of his food. Tim got the message loud and clear: Dimitri may give him some answers now, but he wasn't about to rat on Kinley and tell him _everything_. He got the sudden, sad thought that even though he said 'won't', Dimitri might actually be afraid of the Battaglias. That he might fear some repercussion if he told Tim everything about them. 

And _that_ sounded like a crime family. 

Taking a deep breath, Tim reined in his ire and tried again," Dimitri Shukis, do you think you're in danger from Kinley or the Battaglias?"

"Gu-hkkkk!" Dimitri made a horrible sound as he suddenly choked on his food. Tim jerked to a stand, ready to perform heimlich if needed, but by then Dimitri had swallowed his pasta and had dissolved into a fit of coughs. It was... a more dramatic reaction than Tim had been expecting. 

"You think-" he coughed a few times more," You think Kinley would hurt _me_?" It may have been Tim's imagination, but it sounded like Dimitri was more than certain that Kinley wouldn't hurt _him_ specifically. Everyone else though... "I'm not afraid of the Battaglias," he glowered at him," I just don't want to tell you because it's not my place. I make it a point not to get mixed up in their shit and it's going to stay that way."

Dimitri suddenly stood up. "If you want to know about the Battaglias, then go ask Kinley," he ordered," You got your stupid picture and article. I'm done here." 

That was a dismissal if he'd ever heard one. Tim really wanted to keep pushing, to keep asking. But Dimitri's expression was stone and he looked like he was more likely to try and throw Tim out the window (hah, as if he could) than answer any more questions. "Alright," he frowned. 

Tim picked up the folder -no way he was letting this out of his sight- and headed for the window without another word. Neither of them said anything as he opened the window and disappeared back out onto the fire escape. 


	16. Don't Trust Your Gut

**SCREEEEECH!**

There was a long heaving sigh as Jason rolled over to look at his phone. There really was no avoiding the ringtone; in retaliation, Roy had stolen his phone again and did something to lock the ringtone in. The most Jason could do now was change the volume, which he wished it was muted at the moment. 

But if his phone was screeching, then that meant a message from Pterodactyl. Still bleary from sleep, Jason did some quick calculating in his head; that put the time in Gotham around noon. At least she was texting at a decent hour this time. 

As usual, it was pictures. A part of him hoped it would be more on Tim, maybe even another hilarious video, but knew it would be unlikely. That was a one in a million chance she met Tim and got those photos. So no, the pictures he recieved this day were of a more simple kind. 

The first was an apartment living room -presumably hers- with ocean blue walls and ceiling. It was fairly sparse, with only a coffee table and two end tables with some potted plants here and there. The caption said,_" The remodel is coming along slowly but surely."_

Huh, so she was remodeling?

The second picture was from the balcony. A coffee cup sat on the railing (he laughed at the words printed on the side:** Surely not everyone was kung-fu fighting?**) with the sky as the backdrop. The cup wasn't the focus of this picture; the fantastic cloud formation in the back was. 

Like the ones he's recieved before, it was a simple but pretty picture. Jason smiled. Not a bad view to wake up to.

* * *

"Well you're in a better mood today," the store clerk commented as Kinley browsed the paint aisle with her little shopping basket. She had one headphone in, listening to some Two Steps from Hell, but just low enough to hear people around her.

"Hmm?" she turned to whoever it was, plucking the headphone out of her ear. It was the elderly gentleman, Bill his nametag said, that had helped her select her power drill and skilsaw when she first came to this hardware store. She liked him well enough; he was nice. 

Bill was smiling at her and it reminded her of her Uncle Charles. "I'm guessing you worked things out with your sister?" he asked. 

Oh yeah, she forgot she'd still been cussing out Macie last time she came in. Bill, in his ever misguided sense of civic duty, had lent an ear to her ranting. Originally she'd come for plumber recommendations, but ended up cussing out her sister to him. (She'd _wanted_ to text Dorito and rant to him about unreasonable siblings, but well... he hadn't been talking to her at the time)

In the end, Bill had been a big help, both with the plumbing and the ranting. He'd listened quietly, then offered up suggestions for plumbers to call and how to handle her sister. Not that she'd been successful in his advice on 'just call her up and tell her how annoyed you are'. 

"Not really," Kinley shrugged in response to his question," She won't answer her phone." Which had really ticked her off. So much so that Trent then had to endure a twenty minute lecture from her, up to and including the fact that he'd called Dimitri. When asked if Dimitri had anything to say about it, Trent revealed that he in fact _had_ received a text from his ex boyfriend. All it consisted of was a selfie with his middle finger up. Good old Dimitri.

"I left some fun voicemails though."

Bill looked like he wanted to smile in support of that fact, but did his best to convey a Disappointed Grandpa expression. Kinley half expected him to admonish her for fighting with her sister (as best she could) and so went back to selecting wood stain, intending to ignore upcoming lecture. It was cute he thought to lecture _her_ about family. So she fought with her siblings -or tried to- , what family didn't? Macie was in the wrong and until she admitted that, Kinley was going to remain angry about it.

"Then why are you in a such a good mood today?" Bill pressed. Huh, guess she didn't have to endure a misplaced but well meaning scolding. 

Why indeed was she in a good mood? Kinley smiled to herself, remembering the messages on her phone at this very moment.

"A friend I thought was mad at me, wasn't," she told Bill.

It'd been five days since Dorito spoke to her, five days since she sent him that video of Red Robin because she thought it might make him laugh, five days since he ignored it. When he hadn't replied to either picture or video, it was easy to assume he was upset with her. Dorito always had a one-liner ready, a witty remark, some sarcastic comeback. There was always a comment for every picture she sent him. There was always a reply for every text. Even if it was in the middle of the night. (She about _died _when she she realized she'd drunk texted him.)

But not this time. Zilch. Nada. No reply for almost a week straight. 

Maybe he wasn't a big fan of Red Robin. Maybe he was one of those guys who regularly got in a fight with the Bats of Gotham, got on the wrong side of the law. Maybe he was just missing his home and here she was rubbing it in his face that she was in Gotham City and he was not. Maybe he was just getting sick and tired of her (wouldn't be a first for her.)

So she'd sent two quick pictures, something neutral, something simple, in the hopes to go back to their quid pro quo.

This afternoon, she got a reply._ "Isn't there supposed to be a couch between those tables?"_

As if on cue, her phone buzzed in her pocket and Kinley found herself grabbing it in reaction. "Speak of the devil," she grinned and held up the phone screen for Bill to see the message notification. 

Bill smiled that exasperated-but-amused-grandpa smile and didn't mention how her cheesy grin matched the man's in the picture, posing in front of a dinosaur. "Well good," he nodded," Was a bit worried after you left here still spittin' mad. Can't be losing my best customer."

He must call everyone his 'best customer', but Kinley didn't call him out on it. "Nope, I'm here to stay," she told him just like she did Macie," There's a lot more repairs to do in my apartment." Especially now that she was determined to _really_ fix it up. Maybe actually turn that extra bedroom into a guest room? She's never had a need for one before, but who knows? Things could change. 

"Speaking of which," Bill said," That plumber you asked for called me back. He said he's got an opening tomorrow for a consultation, but if you're planning on a complete rehaul then it's better to tear out the old sink first." Which meant she needed to get the new sink and vanity picked out and ready to go. Then calling Mr. Perez to get the water turned off to her apartment temporarily so she could take out the old pipes. Kinley was already making a list in her head. 

"Che grande," she smiled at Bill," What's his number?"

* * *

**SCREEEEECH!**

"C'mon Jay, not fair!" Roy practically cried when he heard the phone screech again from Jason's pocket," It's been days!" However despite his pleas, his friend showed no compassion. Jason's grin was particularly devious as he dug into his jacket to check his phone.

_"Tell me, as a Gothamite, is half the stuff I find on #onlyingotham true?"_ she asked. 

As someone how liked to add the most random, ridiculous, and completely untrue posts to that hashtag, Jason could say for a fact that over half of it was made up. 

_"Completely true. All of it,"_ he texted back. 

**SCREEEEECH!** _"I call bullshit."_

"Jaaaaaay!" Roy tried to peek over his shoulder again, even going so far as to follow him around the warehouse as Jason walked around," You've been talking to Pterodactyl all day and taunting me with it."

"I am not." 

He totally was.

**SCREEEEECH!** _"The plexiglass windows?"_

Jason laughed under his breath, just a puff of air. That was a fun one. There actually _were_ a lot of plexiglass windows in the nicer parts of Gotham. Nobody really drew on them with markers though. Never thought to carry any around with him, really. And it wasn't like everybody was leaving a basket of dry erase markers sitting outside their plexiglass window balconies. 

**SCREEEEECH!** _ "Batman's boyfriend is Bruce Wayne?"_

His laugh was louder now. Oh yeah, he forgot that was an actual theory going around. 

**SCREEEEECH!** _"The freaking Red Hood breaking into multiple people's houses just to criticize their cooking?"_

Hah! Man, he had fun creating those posts! The number of times he's spotted people _boiling_ chicken was a true tragedy. Should be a crime really. So it was fun to start the rumor that he'd come after anyone who's cooking reminded him of Dick's.

**SCREEEEECH!** _"Does Robin really try to pet and/or steal random animals he comes across?"_

Well, he'll certainly _try_. Last he heard, Damian had quite the menagerie back at the Manor. If it was lost, stray, or hurt, one could almost guarantee that Damian Wayne would want to bring it back home. He wouldn't go as far as stealing one from a good home, though. 

"If this is about the ringtone, I'll change it back!" Roy pleaded in a muffled tone, his face smushed by Jason's hand as he held him back. 

"Hmm..." he pretended to consider it," Nope." This was too much fun. 

With a free hand, he texted back,_"All true."_

SCREEEEEECH! Her reply came back instantly. Or rather, a gif of Will Smith sneezing with the caption,"_ Sorry, I'm allergic to bullshit."_

Jason laughed. _Sassy_.

"Jaaaay!"

* * *

The article came out June 13th, over a month after the Arkham breakout. 

**'Red's Not Dead!'**

**If possible the title was even larger than the one yesterday. If the giant bolded letters didn't catch the eye of any passerby, the two pictures underneath surely did. **

**'In impossibly, almost fantastical breaking news, evidence has come to light that The Red Hood survived his ordeal a month ago facing down the escaped Arkham inmate, Waylon Jones. While there has been no shortage of rumors and circumstantial evidence to the contrary, the Red Hood has been discovered to be alive and well and of all things, riding dinosaurs. **

**To help dispel these falsehoods, in an unprecedented manner, one of Gotham's very own local heroes stepped forward with his tale of what happend that night.**

**"It was a hard fight," Red Robin, one of the vigilantes under the tutelage of Gotham's very own Batman, stated," and most of it happened away from the streets. Being that no one else was really there, I guess it was easy for people to make their own assumptions."**

**When asked about the Red Hood's disappearance, Red Robin claimed that the Red Hood leaving was no surprise to the local caped community. **

**"He goes out of town a lot," he claimed," Just because he's not stomping around Crime Alley doesn't mean he's dead. "**

**An accurate statement, as not even two weeks later, the Red Hood popped up across the Atlantic Ocean in Germany (see full story on pg. A4). Unfortunately, as shared with our staff by Red Robin, the Hood is one of the best when it comes to flying under the radar and has not been seen since. We are confident though that in the future, we will be seeing more of the Red Hood around the globe, fighting giant crocodiles, dinosaurs, and more to keep them away from civilians.'**

Bruce stared long and hard at the newspaper. What his thoughts were, Alfred could only guess as his face was frozen into an expression of surprised and perplexed. He himself had read the article this morning when he first recieved the paper, curious to know if there was more regarding Miss Vale's investigation into Master Todd's disappearence. Imagine his surprise when he discovered there was indeed more news, but rather on the opposite end of the spectrum. 

Now he knew what Master Tim meant when he stomped out of here yesterday, saying he was,' going to fix this.' 

"He talked to a reporter..." Bruce breathed, still staring at the paper like it was purple polka-dotted peacock. Still with that baffled expression, he looked up at Alfred," Did you know he was going to do this?"

"I'm as surprised about this as you are, sir," came Alfred's reply.

Not that he disagreed with it by any means. The article was well written, elegant and simple, painting Red Hood in a better light than Miss Vale ever has. "How did Tim even set this up?" Bruce mumbled, bringing the paper closer to his face as if there were miniscule print that could provide him with answers," I don't even know who this reporter is." 

Alfred had wondered the same thing; a direct argument to Miss Vale's article coming out the very next day? Not many reporters would risk their reputation just to go against her._ 'Though in this case,'_ he thought, gazing fondly at the ridiculous picture of Master Jason atop a stegosaurus,_' One could **hardly** argue that picture.'_ Whoever this D. Shukis was, he had to have some modicum of Tim's trust too, to not only be the only reporter to get an interview from one of the brood, but to get him to pose for pictures too.

That photograph of Red Robin atop a roof, backlit by the glow of Gotham city, was too perfect to be anything other than staged. 

With a sigh, Bruce set the paper down and stood up. 

"Where off to this morning, sir?" Alfred asked, though he had a feeling he knew.

Bruce was already tugging his coat on over his arms. On his face was a firm expression. "Tim and I need to talk," was all he said before all but rushing out the door. 

Alfred sighed. This could not end well.

* * *

Tim had moved into the Penthouse years ago, as soon as he'd turned 18. Bruce had been against it for obvious reasons, but Tim had always been the most independent of his boys and dug his heels in. Three years later it was better with Tim splitting his time evenly between the Penthouse and San Francisco, promising to occasionally spending the night at the Manor. (Alfred had been the main pusher for that one, and honestly no one could say no to that man.)

So despite the Penthouse technically belonging to all the family, Tim was the one who made it his own. Evident in the takeout containers and mugs scattered all around the living room, some with days old tea-stain rings on the inside. Bruce looked around at the mess; if Alfred saw this... 

Still, the mess was just _so_ Tim. 

But where _was_ Tim?

* * *

Kinley had an affinity for gardening. A green thumb, some would say, but Tim's experience with green thumbs consisted of encounters with Pamela Isley. Not that he thought these snapdragons Kinley was planting would spring up and snap at him with thorny teeth. Still, Tim had absolutely no affinity for plants or gardening beyond fighting them, and so watching Kinley tenderly plant a bunch of them in large terracotta pots was something new.

How could someone who spent their free time building furniture and planting a garden be part of a criminal organization? If she was evil, wouldn't she be a little more busy doing evil things or at the very least not encourage a vigilante to stop by at any time for a visit?

Seriously, hadn't even batted an eye when he dropped in on her balcony before simply asking," Tea or coffee?"

Alfred would love her. If she turned out to not be evil. 

Tim sipped his tea, trying to remember if he'd gotten any weird vibes from her other than the usual, and watched as she finished packing dirt around something green and blue in a hanging pot. He was waiting for her to make some comment about his sudden visit in the middle of the day but so far not a word. 

Instead it was," You're taller than me. Could you hang this on that hook for me?"

He really wasn't all that much taller than her, but he shrugged and took the plant hanger from her. A glance upward and he could see the hook she was talking about, so he hopped on top of the railing and looped the hanger's chain around it. When he hopped back down, she was starting on another one. 

"Hey Kinley," he spoke and she paused to lift her head up. She had some dirt smudged on her forehead and cheek. "Can I ask you something?" he asked instead of pointing it out to her. 

Something about his tone must've given him away, for she suddenly frowned and fully leaned back from her plants. "What's wrong?" she asked.

Damn, his poker face was slipping. "Nothing," Tim was quick to reply, schooling any expression he might've had on his face. "Just had a question," he added. 

"Alright, shoot."

Here goes nothing. "What do you _do_?" Well, that could've been better worded...

Kinley snorted out a laugh. "At the moment, making a garden and then I'm gonna build a bench to put right where you're standing," she answered, one hand waving to encompass the balcony. And it was a spacious balcony too. But that's not what he meant.

Tim groaned almost inaudibly," No, not like that. What do you _do_? Like, for a living? It's the middle of the day, but you're not at work."

"You're not at work either, I've noticed," she pointed out," Or does Red Robin do his vigilante-ing during the day now too?"

Technically he doesn't always have to be in at W.E. every hour of the day. He could get a lot of work done on just his computer at the Penthouse. But he wasn't about to tell Kinley that. "That's not even a word. And it's my day off," he said instead," What's your excuse?"

She just shrugged and went back to her plants," I haven't really gone job searching yet. Though I think the manager at the hardware store wants me to put in an application." She glanced up with a thoughtful expression," Or maybe work at the bar as a bartender?"

_'Entirely unhelpful,'_ Tim thought as she shrugged again," I'm just trying to get settled in first before I get a 9-5. I'm in no hurry."

And no, he supposed she wasn't. But still, Dimitri's words kept echoing in his head. 

_("Anyone who catches the attention of the Battaglias usually ends up regretting it.")_


	17. It's a Bank Robbery, Ya'll

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prepare for the fluff

Great... This was her life now. How in the hell did this become her life now? A little voice in her head sounding exactly like her brother said,'_ That's what you get for moving to Gotham.'_ Another, Dimitri-sounding voice quipped back,' _Welcome to the jungle.' _

Right. The concrete jungle. Full of bricks, buildings, and bad guys. Bad guys who liked to rob banks. Bad guys who liked to rob banks when she was there. 

The men came first, five of them in black and carrying large bags. For Kinley, old habits died hard and she had been watching the entrance like a hawk while she waited in line. So she saw them first. Then she heard them, and their guns. 

"Everybody down on the ground!" one of them yelled, raising a small automatic and shooting the ceiling. 

Second came the screaming -as to be expected- as the civilians either ducked for cover or laid flat on the ground as ordered. Kinley started to get low herself, ready to bolt for cover and asses the situation. Then halfway down she saw a child close by and redirected there. 

The terrified scream pierced her ears, but Kinley wrapped her arms around those bony little shoulders and forced them both to a crouch. "Shh, shh, I've got you," she crooned to him (a small boy, no older than 7ish) and tucked his head under her chin. He was so small, so tiny, that it was easy for her to shield him entirely. There was sobbing, small childish sobs in her ear, but the boy did not fight her grasp. 

"I've got you, I've got you," she could only keep saying. Kinley looked around at the chaos, both to find the boy's parent and to see what was going on. Gunshots still rang in her ears; they were still shooting the ceiling and yelling. 

She could only see 3 of the men now. Where the other 2 went, she couldn't tell. Kinley and the boy were behind a small partition, not thick enough to stop any bullets but a wooden counter solid enough to hide them from view. Also behind the counter was an elderly gentleman, eyes wide and worrying. 

The gunshots cease even though the yelling continued. They sounded angry and loud, so while she couldn't hear exactly what was being said, Kinley could get the picture. Put the money in the bag. Get your hand away from that phone. Nobody move. Compared to the gas station robbery, this was almost calm and orderly. Everybody stayed where they were, quiet and still, while the teller clerk hesitantly opened up the till. 

The child was still crying in her arms and clutched onto her shirt, and as she looked around, Kinley was distraught to see no parent looking worriedly over at them. Where was this boy's mom and dad?! "It's okay, it's okay," she murmured to him encouragingly, not really thinking about it and rocking him in her arms. That seemed to help him a little bit. 

Next to her, the older gentleman huddled in close, as if sensing that she would protect both of them with her life. His cane shook in his hands. 

"Shh, shh," she continued to soothe the boy and glanced up around the counter. She could see three of the five; two at the counter, one walking around with his gun drawn and keeping an eye on the bank patrons. She could only assume the other two were doing the same, just out of her sight. 

Two minutes passed -or was it ten?- when the sound of breaking glass reached her ears. 

"It's the Bat!" someone yelled.

* * *

Pfft. Why do morons insist on robbing banks in the old fashioned, hold-at-gunpoint-and-yell-at-everyone way? It just made a lot of noise and drew so much attention. Of course someone would get to a panic button and they would be alerted. 

Robin just couldn't understand it. It was all just so... moronic. _'Really,'_ he grumbled, landing feet first on top of a robber in a cheap black ski mask_,' No skill or strategy at all. Just run in guns blazing and demanding money.'_ They weren't even a decent fight, he despaired, taking the first one out with just a kick to the head. 

There's a BANG! and he looked up to see Father and one of the larger men wrestling over a 12-gauge shotgun. The muzzle is aimed toward the ceiling though and not towards any civilians, so he's not too concerned. The robber probably tried aiming at someone to use as a hostage. 

Besides, there are three more robbers to fight and Robin's itching for some action. 

"Get 'im!" one of them shouts and he almost sighs as he dodged the truly terrible punch thrown his way. Followed by the one after that. And the one after that. 

"Robin, look out!" 

BANG!

The shout, then the gunshot, caught his attention. Then the arm wrapped around his middle from behind grabbed his _full_ attention and before he knew it, Robin was thrown across the aisle and into some stupid wooden counter sticking up out of the floor. "Ow," he groaned because damn it, that hurt. Not _that_ much, he'd never admit, because he's Damian Wayne al-Ghul and he's faced much bigger foes than this... this...

"Ibn al kalb!" he swore at the man who threw him. The robbers faces were hidden by their masks, but even still Damian could tell he was grinning behind that stupid ski mask. 

With both of them advancing on him, one even stopping to pick up one of those poles for line dividers and wield it like a baseball bat, he scrambled to get to his feet. The one with the divider swung it forward in a downward slash and he narrowly dodged it before it clanged off the tile floor. Before Damian had a chance to see where the other one went, there was a meaty sounding THUD and a groan off to the side. 

"Fucking bitch!" 

There was a civilian fighting. 

Dodging Mr. Pole-Happy again, Damian glanced over and saw the second robber facing off against a woman who had no business fighing bank robbers. "Hey!" the guy yelled when she swung a haymaker at him (which he dodged) followed by a roundhouse. That one connected and Damian watched with glee as the man went crashing into a couple of chairs. 

Good on the civilian for fighting, but," You're form is atrocious," he told her. It's not really, but it is mediocre and it's obvious she is well out of practice, judging by how she stumbled a little bit at the end there. Almost like she threw herself off balance with the force of that kick. 

Behind him, Mr. Pole-Happy swung again, only this time Damian ducked underneath it then came back up in an uppercut. The force of his hit whipped the robber's head back with a satisfying crack and he stumbled back. _'That felt good.'_

There was another THUD behind him combined with a feminine outraged," Ow fucker!" Damian glanced back and saw the woman herself had been thrown. Ah, so the guy was a judo fighter; he had a tendency to throw his opponents. He'd be easy to deal with once Damian was finished with this one. 

"Let us take care of it," he told the woman. He ducked under the pole again and swept the robber's legs out from under him.

In reply, the woman ducked behind the counter and came back with... a walking cane? "Then knock them out," she wielded the thing like a sword and hit the robber's brachial nerve straight on. He spazzed big time, giving her the chance to kick the back of his knee in a clean side kick. "So I don't have to!" she finished with a solid punch to his face, knocking him out cold. 

Just as Robin is finishing up (a flying roundhouse kick to the face is always fun), the sound of a child crying caught his attention and the woman disappeared behind the counter. Damian paused a moment, then shrugged it off. So the civilian helped with one little thug, not like it was hard. The robbers are taken care of (he ducked in time to dodge one of the men thrown across the room by Father) and their work here is done. 

Not sparing another thought for the woman, Damian grappled back up through the skylight following his father.

* * *

The little boy's name is Danny and his mother is frantic to find him. After returning the old man's cane to him with a sheepish grin, Kinley accepted the young boy back from him and held him tight. It was only when the sounds of fighting ceased, followed by both Batman and Robin zipping back up through the broken skylight, that the bank patrons start to move around again. 

Kinley and the old man peered back over the counter. The bank is a mess. 

People were just starting to get back up, looking around confusedly as if expecting more fighting. The robbers themselves are scattered around the bank, all neatly knocked out with their hands zip-tied behind their backs. Kinley spotted the one she took on, his eye already looking a little swollen. Oops, she might have hit him too hard there...

"Danny!" a woman screamed out and then there's the sound of high heels clicking rapidly on the tile floors. 

"Mommy!" the little boy cried out and started squirming in Kinley's arms. She turned just in time to see a middle aged woman with frazzled hair and make up streaming down her face. The little boy, Danny, reached out same time as her and mother and son are reunited in tears and crying and _relief_. 

Something big and warm unfurled itself in Kinley's chest, beating against her ribcage like it was _alive_ and she nearly started crying then and there herself. Seeing mother and son reunited, crying with joy as she kissed her little boy's face everywhere she can reach, it's the most pure thing Kinley has ever seen. Her love for her son is nearly palpable.

Mother and son were too absorbed in each other to notice Kinley quietly stepping away.

* * *

The sheer curtains fluttered softly as soon as she opened the windows. The white fabric was light and airy, doing absolutely nothing to block out the setting light of the sunset over Gotham, but that's exactly why she chose them. Gotham was dark enough as it was, she couldn't bear to block out anymore sunlight than necessary. 

That, and the sheer white curtains up against the blue walls reminded her of her old apartment in Venice. 

It's a small, soothing comfort after today's fiasco. Something small, something simple, something to remind her of better times so she can take a deep breath and move past it. So she closed her eyes and thought of Venice. 

There was less stone and sun here, and sometimes she missed the warmth and the smell of the sea. But this city had its charm, it had something she'd never felt from Venice. 

If Kinley were to explain Venice in a word, she'd say,' Stuck.' Stuck in time, to be exact. Like most of Italy, it was mired in the ancient traditions, the old buildings and the cobblestone streets in between. Every step had a history and every story had already been told. Tourists came and went, each of them all the same, and the locals kept walking through life like a well rehearsed play hundreds of years in the making. 

Kinley was tired of it. 

Then she came to Gotham, with its crazy population and crazy adventures, and for the first time she could remember, she felt alive. _Gotham_ felt alive. The city lived, it breathed, and it grew. While it may have been stuck, it was not stuck in time, and she couldn't wait to see it change. 

And it could change, she could tell. It could grow and evolve and she would be there to see it. 

It was here -not in Venice, not San Juan, not France, not Edinburg, not Oregon- that she didn't feel the urge to rush. Here, Kinley didn't need to finish her work quickly before moving on to the next city. Here, she wanted to stay, to lay down roots and settle in the mud. It was here, walking in the door and seeing sea blue walls, a half furnished room and a few lonely potted plants, that it felt like coming home. 

Even with the bank robberies and gas station hold ups.

With a yawn, Kinley headed for the kitchen._ 'Food,'_ she thought longingly and pulled out her phone. She only meant to yank out the headphones to let the music play out loud (which she did) but noticed she had a text. And it wasn't from any family members. 

Huh, been a while since Dorito Chip texted her first. She was always the one to initiate, sending the first text and only ever getting replies back. (Not since the very first actually, with those ridiculous selfies with the dinosaurs. She may or may not have saved one as his profile pic) Curious to what he sent, Kinley opened the text.

_"Thought I'd return the favor."_

"Pretty~" she cooed. 

It was a stunning picture of a sunrise over a mountain range. There was so much pink and orange in the sky, but did nothing to diminish the green of the trees on the mountains. She wanted nothing more than to go explore them.

It wasn't until she was pouring wine into a glass (not a wine glass though; her Italian genes were _crying_ right now) while waiting for her pizza to bake that she realized the significance of it. The realization hit her like a tennis ball to the head and she set the wine bottle down with a stunned expression. 

"He sent me a pretty picture," she spoke her kitchen wall. Oh gods, he sent her a pretty picture. Not a sarcastic comment, not a quick joke like he was very prone to, not even just a 'Hey'. Dorito Chip saw something pretty and his first thought was to take a picture of it and sent it to her. He was stepping out of his comfort circle!

It was established very early on that they would use each other purely for non-judgmental ranting. It was the reason why they never exchanged names (or the reason she gave him); it was a lot easier to vent to a stranger than to someone who knew you. Kinley occasionally complained about the weird, funny, and just plain kooky aspects of Gotham, and he would reminence bitterly about something that would remind him of his former family (_"This guy I'm dealing with right now reminds me of Asshole #1 and I am this close to losing my shit."_) or the absurd amount of idiots he ran in to in his realtor duties (_"Why would **anyone** think it's acceptable to build a house into the side of a cliff in a region known for its high winds?!"_) 

Sure Kinley liked to send him little pictures, something of her flowers, the pretty cloud formations she saw here, the blue walls she was very proud of. But those were just little things to cheer him up. She just sent them because she wanted him to at least have something pretty or funny randomly show up. Alright, she did it to make him smile. Gods knows he needed a reason to do so more. 

But now here he was doing the same thing. This was not the quid pro quo, mister!

_'And on today of all days,'_ she wondered, staring at her phone. Kinley couldn't tell if he was somehow psychic and knew she needed some positivity after today, or if the timing was purely coincidental. And _why_ suddenly take the initiative? Was it is friend's influence? Or was it hers? (She liked to think it might have been hers.)

She would have to respond for sure. But how? A witty remark like he always did? A sincere thank you and 'It's so pretty'? A part of her wanted to make light of it, make it simple and not show how affected she was. Make a joke to lighten the tension -was there tension or was that just her?

But he hadn't sent this as a joke, nor a witty comment. He was 'returning the favor'. What the hell did that even mean?! On a scale of 1-10, how serious was his mood right now and how should she-

The music in her apartment drastically changed, notes skipping like a record scratching on a player. The discord broke Kinley out of her spiraling thoughts, ever the perfect slap of reality she needed. She blinked rapidly and looked around; when the fuck had she moved over to her closet?

"Fuck," she cursed at herself," It happened again." Then she remembered," My pizza!"

* * *

Kinley scowled at her phone, chewing on pizza only slightly crunchier than she liked it and contemplated not answering at all. But then she remembered the anxiety she'd felt the one time he hadn't replied and scrapped that idea. Soft quiet music by Lily Kershaw played in the background. (She finally got it under control with the help of a pair of broken headphones and an MP3 player from the 90's.)

What advice would she give someone else?

'You're first thought is always your most honest,' is what she'd say. So she picked her phone up and texted back the first thing she thought of. 

_"What'd I do to get such a stunning picture?"_

The next line in the song didn't even have a chance to play before his reply came._ "Do you like it?"_

Then another,"_ I'm not a good judge on such things."_

Liar, she smiled. If that were true, he couldn't have taken the picture in the first place. 

_"I like it,"_ she replied. It reminded her of the mountains out west, a place of wild freedom and a land that seemed to defy time itself. She thought of her own little forest growing on her balcony. It still had much to grow, but she was proud of it. 

Before she lost her nerve, she scrambled out to the patio and snapped a picture of her assortment of plants. It was raw, unedited, the lighting was horrible, and there was no clear focal point. She regretted taking the picture the instant she took it.

Then her phone screen flashed green and she got a notification of picture sent. "What the-?" she stared at it for a moment," What the hell was that?!" 

The phone flashed green again and the music played on. The photo had been sent and there was no taking it back. "Traitor," she grumbled at her phone and stuck it in her pocket.

She took it back out in a minute anyways when it buzzed. 

_"Are you **trying** to attract Poison Ivy to your apartment?"_ he asked. 

Ah, witty banter. Kinley could do that._ "If she's willing to help me grow my herbs better, I'd be all for it,"_ she replied. 

_"Yep, you're crazy."_

* * *

10 days later and there's a new sink and vanity in the bathroom. New tile too: a pretty navy blue that looks good with the black vanity and blue trimmed walls. To be honest, it was a bitch to put the tile in until Bill came over and showed her how to cut and place it. ("You get enough practice at this, then you can become our in-home installer," he joked.)

Kinley met her neighbors too! During the bathroom renovation, she took the chance to knock out the kitchen cupboards too. It involved a hammer, kicking, swearing, and whole lot of noise. And somehow it was _that_, not the power tools, that drew their attention. 

"It sounded like someone was getting their ass kicked in here," Shantelle Ellis drawled in her Gothamite accent. She was still holding a crowbar but swinging it around lazily instead of at an imaginary assailant. 

"Yeah, me," Kinley sighed and gestured to the cupboard that was now finally on the kitchen floor," The cupboard was winning."

Shantelle thought a moment, then leaned against the doorframe with a grin," Well it might not be some asshole throwing around his girlfriend... but want me to still beat it up for you?"

"I _want_ to throw it out the window."

"So let's throw it out the window."

Shantelle Ellis was a terrible influence and when Kinley mentioned it to Dorito that night, he thought she was the coolest person ever. 


	18. Happy Birthday Tim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's July 17th, it's Tim's 21st. 
> 
> What could possibly go wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to @throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen for inspiring a large chunk of this chapter

**July 17th, 2020**

It wasn't every day that Tim came home to the Manor for lunch. But on this day, on his birthday, he was willing to make an exception. Especially if Alfred promised to cook his favorite foods. 

As long as Bruce agreed he wasn't going to argue. Much.

"Just... no more interviews, okay?" Bruce sighed with a small smile on his face, looking very much the Tired Dad he was. 

"As long as you don't give me a reason to have to," Tim replied with a impish grin of his own. 

"I do have some more leads on that case though, if you're interested," Bruce offered, looking hopeful as he extended an olive branch to his third son. Tim paused halfway through his cup of tea, thinking it over. 

"Which case?" his question came out cautiously, but after the past few months, Bruce figured he kind of deserved that," Have you found any more leads on Jason?"

But unfortunately... "No," Bruce sounded more than a little disappointed at the admission," I haven't found anything since the dinosaur incident in Germany. But I went looking into the body they mistook for the Red Hood."

To say Tim was intrigued would be vastly downsizing it.

"There will be no talk of bodies and cases at the luncheon table, please," Alfred interjected and set down a platter with more tea and cups. 

"Sorry Alfred," they both chorused.

* * *

An hour later in the Batcave though....

"But why'd they cremate the body so quickly?" Tim asked, looking over the reports. He'd glanced at the coroner pictures, but after seeing the man's face smashed in to the point of unrecognizable, he had to quickly look away. If Bruce noticed how Tim's face went pale, he didn't point it out. Instead, he silently handed him the other paperwork that dealt with the finding and destroying of the body found in upper east Burnley.

"Gotham Health policy," was Bruce's reply," There's only so much room at the city morgue and if the body isn't claimed within three days, they cremate it."

Looking at the initial officer's report of the body's discovery (he was found uncomfortably near the K-line on 138th and Morrison), Tim had to wonder," Even if they thought it was the Red Hood? I'd imagine they'd at least hold onto it for further investigation."

Bruce leaned over the table, where he held a magnifying glass and something small in his hand. As he inspected it, he spoke. "It was never officially identified. The Medical Examiner listed the body as a John Doe. It was only the two officers who speculated it could have been Jason, which snowballed into the rumors."

Which then led to the entire disaster in the first place. 

What was it that Gordon called the whole situation? Oh yeah, a shitshow.

"Not entirely unidentified," Tim spoke up," The death certificate isn't written correctly."

Bruce had a small, hidden smile. He knew Tim would notice that. "You noticed the name too?"

"Mmhm," Tim hummed and held the copy of the death certificate closer to his face (Bruce made a mental note to keep an extra pair of Tim's reading glasses down here for future purposes)," Usually John Doe is spelled J-O-H-N. But not this one. J-O-N."

"Usually short for Jonathon."

"Think the M.E. made a mistake?"

Bruce glanced up at his third son; there was a small tight grin on his face," I think the M.E. knows who this was."

Tim frowned," Then why list him as a John Doe?"

"Because while the M.E. didn't care if the police made speculations that it was the Red Hood, I think he didn't want anyone to know the actual identity of this man," Bruce explained.

Tim's frown deepened," That's a lot of speculation, Bruce. That's more of my thing and not yours." He was absolutely right, and they both knew it. Tim was the one whose mind could make leaps like that and piece together two concepts that normally would have no connection whatsoever. Bruce was a detective mind, finding all the facts and piecing them together like a giant puzzle. 

Wild speculation was Tim's thing.

But, like Bruce said, he had a lead. "What do you know of the M.E?" he asked. 

Tim glanced back down at the death certificate and autopsy report. "Nothing," he answered," I don't recognize the name." Certainly not one he's ever seen before. 

"Dr. Alviero Acies," Bruce said, having memorized it," He was promoted to the city's M.E. four years ago when the previous medical examiner was killed."

Well if that wasn't ominous. "How was he killed?" Tim asked. 

Bruce sighed, he didn't like how that particular case had ended. "He was killed by the Court of Owls," he admitted," Dick discovered he was a low ranking member of the Court, and they sent out a Talon to kill him before he could reveal prominent information."

"Oh..."

"And I suspect that Jonathon might actually be the man's name," Bruce continued," Come take a look at this."

In his hand he held a small piece of jewelry. It was a ring, a dark silver metal, possibly pewter, and meant to fit a man. As he dropped it in Tim's palm, he noticed it had a bit of heft to it. 

"This was left at the scene where the body was found," Bruce explained," It wasn't initially brought in for evidence, but when I went back to look I found it stuck in a crack in the pavement."

As Tim looked at it closer, he noticed it wasn't a class ring like he originally thought. But it did have an emblem. "It looks like..." he peered closer, trying to make it out but it was small and scuffed. Helpfully, Bruce held out the magnifying glass he'd been using earlier. Once Tim held the ring under it, he could make out the engravings. "It's a person's head, with a blindfold on," he said," And the letters JB under it."

"The Blindfolded Moor."

"You recognize it?"

"I do," Bruce admitted," It's the emblem on the flags of Sardinia and Corsica. The home of-"

"_There_ you are!"

They both looked up when they saw Steph standing on the steps with her hands on her hips. Cass stood just behind her. "Tim!" Steph looked very cross with him.

"It is your _21st_ birthday, and you're spending it down here in the cave working on a case?" Had they still been dating, Tim might've been scared of that look Steph was giving him. As it was, it was still pretty intimidating.

"Umm, I was just-" he started to explain, with no help from Bruce who was watching all this go down with a smile on his face," Bruce was just showing me-"

Before he could make a fast retreat, both girls had made their way down the stairs, where Cass took one arm and Steph took the other. "No excuses," Steph said as they literally pulled him away from the reports and ring and evidence," Whatever case it is, can wait until tomorrow."

"But-"

Cass grinned. "21st birthday is special," she said.

Steph agreed," Cass is right. And we need to celebrate _properly_."

"No," Tim started to struggle," We are _not_ going bar hopping!"

Bruce started to laugh as the girls successfully dragged him up the stairs and back into the manor. From down in the cave, he could still hear Steph's response," Oh shush, you big baby, that's not until later tonight. Right now, you've got a birthday cake with your name on it!"

Once they were out of earshot, Tim very much mollified by the promise of cake, Bruce turned back to the table. The pictures of the autopsy were... still hard to look at, especially knowing that so many people had thought it had been Jason. The ring was easier to look at, with its engravings and its implications. 

_'Corsica and Sardinia...'_ he thought, picking up the ring,'_ I haven't been there in years.'_ It had only been a quick visit, an introduction to Batman by a mutual friend. But if this man was a Corsican... and he'd been killed in Gotham...

_'I'll need to make a call to Diana,'_ he realized.

* * *

Stephanie Brown was the loudest and the most obnoxious singer, Damian quickly decided, and made a face when she sang purposefully out of tune. "Happy birthday to you~!" she crowed and gave Drake a big, fat obnoxious kiss on the cheek. 

On Drake's other side, Cassandra Cain smiled and plopped a cake down on the table. It was hardly bakery store worthy, with frosting slathered on in a heap of sugary chaos and the words 'Happy Birthday' piped onto it in the most atrocious handwritting. But Drake beamed at it like it was an award winning confection. 

"Make a wish, birthday boy!" Steph demanded, as if it were her birthday and not someone elses. Damian rolled his eyes at her demanding tone, but for once kept his mouth shut when Tim blew out the candles on top of the cake. There was some brief cheering, with even Thomas telling Drake 'Happy birthday, man!'

"What'd you wish for?" Cassandra asked, head tilted. 

Stephanie, dramatic as usual, gasped in horror," He can't tell you! Then it won't come true!" 

This time, Damian could not contain his snort of derision. "Such an idiotic superstition," he mocked," Telling someone your wish -which is stupid by itself- won't affect the likelihood of it happening or not."

Steph's gasp of horror turned into one of betrayal. "You take that back," she pouted," A birthday wish is a sacred and magical thing."

"As much as I hate to agree with the Demon Brat," Drake hummed, low and thoughtful," He's got a point. Telling somebody doesn't change the odds of it happening."

"Heathens, the both of you!" she threw up her hands. One of her fingers pointed at Drake," You're just a heathen in general." Then her other hand pointed a purple painted and glittered nail at Damian," And I bet you're just sour because you've never made a birthday wish on a birthday cake since you don't celebrate your birthday."

It was true, sort of. Damian Wayne didn't know what day he was born, and he didn't really celebrate it. But...

"I've had a birthday cake once," he murmured.

Instantly, four pairs of eyes turned to him, curious and demanding. He didn't answer their silent question, but instead played with the lighter in his hand. It had been years ago, and he hadn't told anyone, not even Mother. And the only other person who knew... didn't remember...

**Nanda Parbat**   
**7 years ago, 2013**

Damian al-Ghul was seven, and he still had a babysitter. 

Actually, babysitter was too generous a word. Damian had a shadow. If anything, _he_ was the babysitter, as he was the only one of the two capable of making decisions. The older boy, with his blank eyes partially hidden by shaggy dark hair, followed Damian around wherever he went. At first, he'd hated it, believing this stranger to have no part in their home with this expressionless face and nameless existence. Mother had quickly disavowed him of that notion. _"He is your brother now,"_ she actually told him, and after that there was no arguing with her. 

(He'd also learned really quick that J wasn't as useless as he seemed. Out of anger one day after being followed for five hours on end, Damian once attempted to punch his new 'brother'. Instead, he found himself thrown onto his back, and then J just... stood there. As if he hadn't just body slammed a 7 year old out of pure instinct)

So now here they were, for while Damian could slip past his retinue of 'babysitters', he never really managed to lose J no matter how hard he tried. It was annoying, is what it was. But J was quiet, and he never said a word, so Damian graciously elected to keep an eye on Mother's pet project until he decided to return to the palace. For now, he was intent on wandering the market and explore since Mother and Grandfather usually never let him leave the palace unless it was for a training session. 

The market was... new. There were so many new smells and sounds, and so many people. After Damian broke a man's pinky finger, the crowd of people quickly learned not to bump into him so much. It had been fun to watch J throw another person through a stall when the individual tried to grab his arm. Damian had no clue what had been going through J's mind when he did it, but he hardly broke stride as he grabbed the assaulter's arm and flipped him over onto the counter full of apples. The next second, he was right back by Damian's side, silent and blank as ever. 

_'He would make a decent bodyguard,'_ he had to admit. If only they could get past J's inability to actually think, and to be more proactive instead of _re_active. But that was Mother's problem, not his. 

So despite all the roughhousing, or maybe because of it, Damian was having a good time. No training, no fear of failure, no Grandfather looming over him with a sword, just him and J wandering the market and minding their own business. At one point, Damian paused when he smelled something delicious. There was a stall of small sweets, stacked higher than him and in all sorts of colors. 

J stopped in front of a towering pile of burfi. 

Usually, J had no manners whatsoever and just ate whenever he was hungry. It didnt matter what or who was in the vicinity, if he was hungry and there was food, he ate it. As he appeared to be gazing at the burfi with startling intensity, Damian wondered if this would be one of those moments. 

Aaand sure enough, there it was. He almost sighed at the predicability as J reached out and grabbed the chocolate burfi sitting on top. Before the stall owner could throw a fit, Damian tossed payment onto the counter before grabbing a mango flavored one for himself. He took a bite -not bad- and thought about looking for any weapons stalls out here when he noticed J hadn't eaten his burfi yet. 

Odd. Usually it was next to impossible to stop J from eating whatever was in his hands. 

Damian took another bite of his burfi and eyed the taller boy, silently wondering what he would do. And then... J did the oddest thing. 

Still with that blank look in his eyes, J reached out back towards the stall counter. Instead of grabbing more food though, he plucked a stick of incense from the burner sitting there. Still smoking and smelling strongly of cardamom, the incense then found itself stuck non-burning side down right in the middle of the chocolate burfi in J's hand. 

Then he held it out to Damian. 

And he was humming. 

**Gotham City**   
**July 2020**

At the time, Damian hadn't known what song J had been humming. Hell, at the time, he hadn't even really know who J _was_. All he remembered about that day was how he'd never heard J make a sound, both before and after, and to Damian it felt... special. It wasn't J following him around everywhere. It wasn't Mother telling him that they were brothers now. No, it was in a crowded stinking marketplace where J made his first comprehensive sound, a nameless little tune, that Damian felt that maybe this whole J sticking around thing wasn't so bad. 

He never told Mother what had happened in the marketplace (other than the commoners that harassed them) nor that he heard J humming a song while giving him a sweet cake with a stick of incense sticking out of it. 

It wasn't until years later, when he came to Gotham, that Dick Grayson sat him down and stuck a cake in his face with 11 candles on top, that he heard the tune again. Grayson hadn't been expecting him to attempt to twist his arm behind his back, but had laughed when Damian loudly demanded to know what that song was and what's with the cake. 

It wasn't until years later that Damian fully realized what had happened that day. 

And he still never told anyone. 

"Grayson tried to sing me the birthday song once," he lied," I smashed the cake in his face."

* * *

"I cannot believe you talked me into doing this," Tim lamented as his forehead finally made connection with the bar top.

Laughing and taking a drink of her Bahama Mama, Barbara told him," Chin up, Timmy, or else people will think you can't hold your liquor." 

"He _can_'t hold his liquor!" on his other side, Steph crowed," This is Tim's first time drinking!"

At that, Tim snorted and tried to hide his smile. 'First time drinking' Hah! First time drinking _legally_, maybe. But just to prove her wrong (he so _can_ hold his liquor!) he reached out and grabbed one of the shots that were lined up on the bar in front of them. It was pink and sparkly and it tasted very sweet as it went down. 

"Not bad," he smacked his lips," I kinda like that one." Much better than the amber colored shot they had made him down thirty seconds earlier. Whatever _that_ shot had been -the Three Wise Kings or whatever- was not his favorite. This one tasted like candy.

With a chorus of chuckling, the girls down their own bright pink shots. "The Princess Shot," Barbara answered. 

"_Steph_!"

The blonde cackled hysterically when Tim yelled at her. "Well you _said_ you didn't like the bitter tasting ones!" she exclaimed.

While the two of them bickered, Barbara and Cass exchanged looks. This was going to be a fun night.

* * *

Batman was staking out on top of Wayne Tower and waiting for something to happen, when he got a call from Nightwing. 

**"So... Steph took Tim out for his 21st birthday?"** Dick led with.

"No names in the field," Bruce said. 

**"This isn't a comm-link, this is your personal cell phone,"** Dick retorted," **_You're_ the one who picked up."**

Bruce sighed. Alright, yes, he did answer his personal cell when he noticed it was Dick calling. "Yes, the girls took Tim out for his birthday."

**"And you let them go _bar hopping_?"**

"He is 21 and now of legal age to drink. I can't stop him if he wants to go out drinking," Bruce argued back," And how do _you_ even know this? I thought you were still in Bludhaven?"

**"I know,"** he could definitely hear the laughter in Dick's voice," **because Tim called me."**

_'Oh boy._' "How was he?" he was probably going to regret asking," Barbara made me promise I wasn't going to check in on them until tomorrow morning."

_**"Schwasted!"**_ Dick laughed loudly," **We now officially have another Happy Drunk in the family! You wanna see the video Babs sent me of Tim, Cass, and Steph dancing on top of a bar?"**

"No." _'Yes.'_

**"You sure, cuz-"**

"Hold on, I've got another call coming through..." Bruce frowned, unfortunately having to put Dick's call on hold so he could see what the next incoming call was about. His frown deepened when he saw it from Commissioner Gordon.

"Hello?" he answered in what he hoped to be a typical Bruce Wayne I-was-just-sleeping voice. 

If Bruce was faking a tired voice, then Gordon's tired voice was 100% real. **"Mr. Wayne..."** Jim sighed,**" Come get your children."**


	19. Where the Wicked Things Are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock. 
> 
> Hickory dickory dock

It wasn't every day that Diana Prince got a call from the states. It was even rarer that she got a call from Bruce Wayne.

"Good afternoon, Bruce," she greeted with a smile as she typed away at her keyboard," This is a surprise." He didn't normally call while she was at work, especially on a civilian line. Yet as curious as she was to this unexpected phone call, she was in the middle of typing up a report on a 3rd century ceremonial mask that needed to be categorized and archived. 

**"Hello Diana."**

As she entered in the location as to where the mask was found, she asked," To what do I owe the pleasure?"

**"I need to meet with the Corsicans."**

Her fingers froze on the keyboard. 

"Bruce..." Knowing him as long as she has, she shouldn't be surprised, but well... she was surprised. Diana leaned back in her chair with a baffled expression. "_Why?_" she had to ask. 

**"I have a question I think only they can answer."**

Hah! Never let it be said that Bruce Batman Wayne always gave a straight answer. Diana almost laughed. "And what question might that be?" She knew he probably wasn't going to tell her, but she also knew she couldn't not ask. 

He paused a moment before answering.** "I think I found one of their own in Gotham."**

Now he had her intrigued. One of 'their own', or just someone from the island? But still, even if he did find someone from Corsica in Gotham, it wasn't all that strange. "They're known for traveling all over the world, Bruce," she pointed out," Why do you want to ask them about one person?"

**"Because he was murdered, and someone tried to cover it up as the death of my son."**

* * *

_"So which one is it? Forehand?"_

_A wave of pain erupted, the origin of it uncertain to him._

_"Or backhand?"_

_All he could **feel** was pain._

_There was more. More talking, more pain, more tiny flashes of light behind his eyes. He felt his head smack against something -or did something smack against his head?- and blood filled his mouth. The taste of it intimately familiar to him. Something hard crunched in his mouth and he spat out a tooth. _

_"Well, which is it, Batsy?" Above, the smacking sound brought his attention to the Joker standing with a crowbar in his hands. The grin ever present on his face. _

_"What do you think your boy said hurt worse?" Joker demanded gleefully," He's told you, hasn't he? Told you aaaalllll about the fun we had when he was little?" Joker laughed," Oh! All the fun, all the fun. **Such** good times."_

_Logically, Bruce knew he could escape these bonds. He knew he could break free and hit that grin right off the Joker's mouth. Keep hitting and hitting and **hitting** until he stopped laughing._

_But he was terrified. Frozen in fear. Helpless in the face of his fate. It was just this... this fear that held him still._

_"Or maybe..." Joker pressed the crowbar to his lips, thinking out loud," His favorite was the big bang?"_

_Tic tic tic tic TICTICTIC TICTICTIC-_

_There was a beeping. Louder and louder and faster and faster and-_

** _BOOM!_ **

* * *

Bruce threw himself clear out of his own bed, a scream lodged in his throat and his skin feeling clammy. The room was cold and dark, with only the light of the storm outside to see by. 

A dream, he realized, just... just a dream. A small dark part of himself whispered,_' A nightmare,'_ but he steadily tried to ignore it. 

_'Not even a nightmare,'_ that voice inside him continued,_' A truth. Dreams aren't real. But his death was. His **pain** was real.'_

Bruce gritted his teeth and shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. It didn't work. 

_'And now you'll never have the chance to make it better.'_

The grandfather clock chimed in front of him and he was startled out of his thoughts. He hadn't even realized he was heading towards him. The passageway slid open and he stepped inside, wearing only his sweatpants and his grief.

He went straight for the computer.

* * *

That's how Alfred found him a few hours later. Bruce, dressed for bed and snoring at the console; it was a sight Alfred hadn't seen in a very very long time. At first, he thought to wake Master Bruce, send him off to bed until the afternoon.

But then he saw what was on the screen.

**'RED'S NOT DEAD!'**

An article by the Gotham Gazette, staunchly proclaiming the continued existence of the Red Hood. A well written article that Alfred kept a clipping of, its words headed by pictures of Red Hood and Red Robin. A clear, grim rooftop photo of Timothy, posing for the photographer against Gotham's night sky. A slightly blurry, chaotic picture of Jason in the most outrageous situation. 

Proof that they both were alive. 

Alfred looked at the other screens, saw Bruce's trackings of socia media and news stations. Anything and everything to find his boy, to know where he was, to know if he was safe. But alas, even weeks later, this news article was the only tangible proof they had. 

_'Red's not dead,'_ Alfred hummed to himself, draping a blanket over Master Bruce's shoulders,'_ He's just gone.'_

Even still, he had every hope that one day... young Master Jason would return.

* * *

_"Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock."_

He rolled over and buried his head under the pillow. 

_"Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock."_

The pillow remained useless as the sound came from not outside, but from his own mind. Tim groaned in frustration and rolled onto his back, taking the pillow off his face. His ceiling was white and he hated it. Scarecrow's stupid tick tock tick tock shit was stuck in his head and he hated that too. 

It didn't even make any sense why he was thinking of it right now. That was months ago and there had been much bigger and more important things going on since then. At the time, they had been so confused as to why he kept saying it. It wasn't until they encountered Killer Croc that Tim understood. It was a play on the tale of Peter Pan and Captain Hook. The crocodile who swallowed a clock, and so whenever Captain Hook heard the tick tocking of the clock, he would know the crocodile was near. 

And their own Croc had been hyped up on a mega dose of fear toxin.

The mystery was done, solved, put away on shelf. They learned Crane's plan in the end, even if they never did catch him. 

So why was Tim stuck on it all these months later?

Something didn't fit and his subconcious was going to be the death of him trying to figure it out. 

_"Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock."_

"Shut uuuuup!" he groaned and smushed the pillow over his face again.

* * *

"This is a bad idea and you know it."

Tim rolled his eyes and continued down the path, holding his flashlight aloft so they could see where they were going. Cass was darting up ahead, a mere shadow flicking in and out of the light's rays as she looked at every wall and pipe. Behind him, Steph let out a sigh of epic proportions but followed after with her own light.

"This place is creepy," she said for the tenth time," and our comms don't work down here. What if we run into trouble and we can't call Babs?"

He wasn't too worried. "We won't be running into Killer Croc this time," he reassured her while pausing to look at a claw mark in the wall," He's back in Arkham." 

_'After Jason dropped a building on his head,'_ he added silently.

"But Scarecrow isn't," Steph pointed out," He could still be down here with his shooty traps that shoot fear toxin at you like little poison needles."

"That's why we brought extra anti-toxin."

"What if we run into an ancient underground demon-monster?"

God, he _wished_. At least then he'll know his gut feeling was right. "That's why we brought Cass," he said instead, grinning as his sister paused long enough to look back with a blinding smile of her own. Should they actually find an ancient underground demon-monster, then God have mercy on that monster's soul. "Find anything yet?" he asked. 

Steph made a show of looking around with her flashlight. They were well past the sewers now, into the deep subway line. But Tim was starting to doubt this was a subway line. These tracks looked old, more like railroad tracks instead of subway ones. 

Cass popped up next to them with her hood pulled back all the way. "Old," she announced," Very old." 

Well they knew that. "What are we even looking for?" Steph asked.

That, they didn't know. "Not sure yet," Tim shrugged," I think... I missed something, I just know it. There was something about that night that just... doesn't make any sense."

"Like what?"

"I don't know." And that uncertainty is what brought him back down here tonight.

The girls shrugged and they continued on, inspecting nearly every inch of the tunnel as they moved deeper and deeper under Gotham.

* * *

When they came across the giant door, Cass was especially interested in it. Her fingers ran gently over the stylized M. Tim hadn't really thought much on it at the time; they were too focused on finding Crane than to worry about a metal door in a tunnel that led to nowhere. The M was interesting, he gave it that, and he wondered what the circle between the peaks stood for. 

"Do I want to know what broke this down?" Steph pondered out loud.

"We think it was Killer Croc," Tim answered. 

Steph glanced back at the door and shuddered. "And you two thought it'd be a good idea to take him on alone," she muttered. 

"We didn't _know_ he was down here!" Tim defended. 

Ignoring his defensive tone, Steph peered past the door," Did you guys go this way?" She pointed through the doorway where the room beyond disappeared into darkness.

"No," he shook his head and pointed down the tunnel they were in where at the end he knew to be the abandoned station," Crane went that way when we were chasing him."

All of a sudden there was a creaking metallic sound that sounded as loud as the Hindenberg in the quiet tunnel. Tim and Steph jumped, both landing into defensive positions. "Sorry," Cass whispered, her face looking sheepish in the dark. She was pointing to the metal M on the door. 

Her poking and prodding had nudged the M far enough that it swung off its hook until it hung upside down on the door. It now looked like a W, sitting on top of a large circle. 

And it was in that moment, Tim realized what the circle was supposed to be. 

It was a planet.

* * *

They followed through the doorway, which led to another tunnel. Smaller than the first, but just as old. This one was cold and dark as well, but there were no tracks (railroad or otherwise), suggesting this was meant for foot traffic. 

It also went on much longer than the big tunnel. "I really hope there's no underground demon-monster at the end of this thing," Steph complained. 

"If there is..." Tim retorted,"...it'll be your fault because you jinxed us."

"It'll be your fault because you dragged us down here."

"You didn't _have_ to come with."

"And leave you to get eaten by an underground demon-monster? B would fillet me and roast me over a fire!"

"Nobody's getting eaten by an underground demon-monster!"

"Well yeah, because _we're_ here."

As the two bickered behind her, Cass had the biggest smile on her face. They were loud and absurd and to her it was entirely too endearing. It was a fun thing to listen to while she inspected the tunnel. There was no underground monster in this place, ancient or otherwise. 

Cass had seen the disturbance in the dirt they walked on. There _has_ been traffic in this tunnel, how recently she couldn't tell for sure, but she knew there was no one other than them at this moment. This place was abandoned.

Right when she heard a static sound, Tim paused and his hand flew to his ear. "Comms are back online," he confirmed what she thought. 

Steph looked relieved. "We must be getting closer to the surface," she said.

"Yeah, but where?" Tim asked and looked at his wrist tablet," Do you realize we've been walking for 7 miles since we started? This tunnel alone is 4 miles long."

"You think we're clear out of Gotham by now?" Steph looked at him. 

With a shrug, he continued walking. "One way to find out."

* * *

The tunnel came to a stop, with a dead end and a ladder leading upwards. The three of them aimed their flashlights up at the underside of what looked like a wooden trapdoor. "Old school," Steph whistled," I like it."

"Ladies first?" Tim offered, to which she punched him in the arm. Before they could argue over it, Cass was up the ladder and pushing up. The door opened without any problems. Sure, it creaked like hell and the hinges were in _dire_ need of oiling, but it wasn't locked from the other side. As soon as she disappeared over the edge, they scrambled up after her. 

Soon, all three of them were standing in the middle of what looked like an old abandoned barn. There was no body around, no animals, no hay, not even a door. Just old, and wooden, and abandoned. "I really want to make a Wizard of Oz comment..." Steph said as she spun in a circle to fully encompass their surroundings,"... but I feel like we _are_ in Kansas."

"Huh?" Cass tilted her head in confusion. 

"Toto, I don't think we're in Gotham anymore."

"South of Burnside actually," Tim announced, checking his phone's GPS," We went clear under the river."

"And out of Gotham," she finished. They walked out of the barn and saw the rest of the farm. The farmhouse looked just as abandoned as the barn, even if the fields surrounding it were full of corn stalks. Then she got upset. "You mean to tell me there's a secret tunnel going in and out of Gotham and _no one_ knew about it?" she threw up her hands," This would've been great on so many occasions!"

Tim and Cass had to agree with her. 

Cass looked up at the sky -there was a dull glow on the horizon, telling them dawn was not that far off- then looked north. "Call Alfred?" she asked. 

There was a brief pause as the other two thought it over, but in the end- "Yeah," Tim sighed and started dialing," I'd rather not walk all the way home."

* * *

45 minutes later, Alfred pulled up to the farmhouse in a dark blue mercedes. The sun was just starting to peek up over the horizon, turning the sky a light grayish blue color. The three of them were sitting on the front steps of the farmhouse (investigating inside provided nothing interesting) and playing a mean game of Fuck, Marry, Kill. At the car's approach, they all leapt to their feet. 

"I must say..." Alfred said, stepping out of the vehicle,"... this is the first time I've had to pick the three of you up from a farm rather than some alleyway."

Steph and Cass each gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. "You're the best, Alfred!" Steph grinned. 

"Getting into trouble, no doubt," he added, though with the air of an indulgent grandfather. Cass's response was to hold her hand up, palm down and wiggle her hand back and forth. One of Alfred's eyebrows went up," An interesting tale, I'm sure. However did you three end up all the way out here?"

Tim sauntered up. "Thanks for picking us up, Alfred," he grinned sheepishly," It's... kind of a long story how we got here. Remember that underground bunker Jason and I found Killer Croc in?"

"Former Boy Wonder here wanted to investigate it again," Steph stuck a thumb back out in Tim's direction," We found a tunnel and we followed it. Turns out, it goes under Gotham River and pops out here."

Alfred looked impressed. "I see," he hummed with one eyebrow up.

They all loaded up into the car, eager to get back to the Manor and clean off all the dirt. As Alfred drove them off the farm, Tim thought over what they had discovered in the tunnels. Or what they _hadn_'t discovered. He was a bit sour about it all and that uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach hadn't gone away. So what they discovered a secret tunnel under the Gotham River. Still not what he was looking for.

Tim sighed deeply and thunked his head against the window. "Well this was a worthless trip," he grumbled. 

"Don't be so down, Tim!" Steph leaned over and nudged his arm," We found a secret tunnel! And it's awesome. So if we ever need to sneak something out of the city, just go down into Underground Demon-Monster territory, under the river, and pop out at-"

She paused and blinked. "Hey Alf?" she leaned forward past the seats with a thoughtful expression," Where are we?"

The car bumped a bit as they turned off onto the county highway, rough gravel giving way to smooth concrete. Tim glanced out the window just in time to see a piece of broken wood hanging off a post and almost buried completely by weeds. A sign. "Marchetti..." he read out loud. 

_'Who were the Marchettis?'_


	20. Darling, We're Going Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friendships aren't easy when they're based on mutual trauma.
> 
> And just who are the Corsicans?

The envelope was sitting on top of his mail, like it had been staged there. Were it not for the stamp on the corner, he might've thought someone broke into his mailbox just to lay that ornate envelope right at the top. As it was, he wasn't sure the mailman hadn't been in on it and staged that letter. It seemed the sort of thing they'd do. With a wary scowl, Dimitri reached his hand in and grabbed his mail, fancy envelope and all. 

The letter burned in his hands the whole way up the stairs. For the most part, he tried to pretend it wasn't anything special, throwing his mail onto the kitchen table. He went about his normal nightly routine: light a candle, throw some leftovers into the microwave, go change into sweatpants. But try as he might, he couldn't stop thinking about that goddamn envelope, 

"пиздец (Pizdets)," he swore and stomped over to it. The chair creaked when he sat heavily in it and with tired hands he picked the cursed thing up. 

**'Esteemed Dimitri Shukis of House Balchunas'**

Esteemed. It almost made him laugh. Or throw up. His reaction varied on the day. The title did not bring pleasant memories. (Part of him wondered if _they_ knew)

Even though he already knew its contents, Dimitri's fingers were sliding under the wax seal before he could stop himself. Out came the neatly folded invitation on paper so official it almost counted as parchment. And tucked inside was a check written out for an amount he didn't want to see. 

The text on the letter was fancy and bold, as it always was. He could've read it, but the gist was always the same.** 'Most esteemed Dimitri Shukis of House Balchunas-'** blah blah blah blah** '-shown considerable insight and resourcefulness-'** _bleh _**'-hold true to our values-'** which was usually followed by... He scanned the letter and found it,_' Ah, there it is.' _

**'Please use this to fund your work.'** And of course, the catch soon followed after.** '-we look forward to your acceptance and would be proud to initiate you in-'**

Jesus, there was even an initiation. For as much as they claimed to not be a cult, they were completely a goddam cult. 

Dimitri held first the check, then the letter over the candle's small flame until it caught alight. The fire licked at his fingertips, just enough for him to _feel_ it, before he was forced to drop it onto the table. He watched with dead eyes as it continued to burn.

Until the letter was completely gone, he watched and drank his beer, sometimes relighting it when the flames sizzled out. As he saw the last of it curl and darken into ash, he chugged the last of his beer. _'I won't be bought.'_

* * *

The night was hot and humid, typical of a late July night. Kinley sat on her balcony, on her brand new bench, painted a glossy white with baby blue cushions, and stared at the blooming moonflowers as if they could provide all the answers she ever sought. They didn't, of course, but felt if she stared long enough, they could somehow impart some sense of peace into her soul. 

Her thoughts were a tumble today, and she knew it was because of the upcoming month. August was...not a good time for her. Too many memories. Too many days to wake up, just _breathe_, and move through until the next. 

**BZZT**

Kinley was broken from her reverie by the sudden stop to the music and looked down at her phone. Half of her was disappointed it was not Dorito texting her back, being the welcome distraction he usually was. The other half of her was surprised to see Dimitri texting her this late. As far as she knew, he was not a night owl in any means. 

But when she opened the message, all breath left her lungs in a great rush._ "I want to cut all ties to the Battaglias."_

Straight, to the point, and just... what? Kinley sat up straighter in her seat, staring at her phone as if it had just screamed at her. Which... it kind of felt like it just did. 

_"What?"_ she texted back.

A few minutes passed and there came no reply. In quick succession, Kinley sent off some more replies. 

_"What the hell is going on?"_   
_"Why are you asking out of nowhere to just cut all ties with us?"_   
_"Dimitri Shukis, answer me back!"_

Still no answer came. In desperation, she called him directly, fearing he might be in danger. Why else would he send a text like that and then just ghost his own phone?

No answer. 

She tried again. 

When that one went straight to voicemail, she knew he was doing it on purpose. 

_"Dimitri, I know where you fucking live and if you don't give me some sort of explanation RIGHT NOW I will come break down your door."_

He stopped ignoring her after that. _"What part of 'cut all ties' do you not understand?"_ came his annoyed response,"_ I don't want to hear from you anymore, Kinley, or anyone else associated with the Battaglias."_

A conversation like this deserved a face to face talk, but if he refused, then she'd make do with a phone call. Yet again, however, he sent it straight to voicemail. 

_"I **will** block your number if you keep calling me,"_ he warned. 

Kinley had to remind herself to take a deep breath to stop herself from going and breaking down his door anyways. Somewhere deep in her apartment, music started playing again, presumably from her stereo in the living room, but she paid it no mind. _"I think I at least deserve an explanation,"_ she texted back and hoped he could read her ire in the words. 

_"I don't have to owe you an explanation. I thought you'd be decent enough to accept my wishes."_

'Decent enough'? 'Decent enough'?! Kinley very nearly screeched at her phone and started mashing at the buttons._ "And I thought you'd have enough human decency to at least give me some sort of explanation!" _

His answer came back almost immediately and she wished it hadn't. 

_"That would require both of us to be human."_

She had to quickly set the phone down before she crushed it in her hands. Dimitri wasn't on the phone with her, yet she could hear his words in his voice all too clearly. _'That would require both of us to be human.'_ Whether he regretted saying them or not, they had been said, and there was no taking it back. 

Part of Kinley wanted to yell, to scream, to demand he take it back because he _knew_! Of anyone, _he_ knew! And yet all she wanted to do was curl up in a dark place, and lay there for eternity until the world forgot her. 

But she was Kinley Battaglia, and she did not have that luxury. 

_"I'm sorry if that came out harsh, but you know this was years in the making,"_ the next message read,"_ You did this to me. You destroyed me. And ever since then, the Battaglias have been manipulating my every step and I hate it. I hate them and I hate you. So thank you for your help in the past, but from now on I want nothing to do with any part of the family."_

_"Promise me."_

The last part came as a plea, a demand, and a threat all at once. But it was not those words that kept ringing in her ears. No, it was words spoken from long ago, that cut just as deep as they did now. 

(_"Wh..." he stared at her in combination of fear and awe._

_"Don't," her newfound companion warned," Don't say it, man."_

_But he did not heed him. "What are you?"_

_The older man sighed and hung his head," You said it...")_

Had she been a lesser woman, Kinley might've texted him back in a cool rage. _'Hurt him back,'_ a tiny part of her whispered_,' You know how to. He'd deserve it too.' _

But she was Kinley Battaglia, and she did not have that luxury. 

So instead she picked her phone up again and sent off two messages. One to Dimitri,"_ You will never hear from us again."_

And one to her brother Michael,"_ Dimitri Shukis has asked to cut all ties to Battaglias. No one is to ever speak to him again or contact him in any way. Please alert the rest of the family."_

Then she set it down and let her heart break.

* * *

Landing in Corsica was always pretty easy. As long as you correctly identified yourself and requested landing permissions, the Control Tower was pretty lenient. As long as you were honest. 

**"Welcome back, Bat,"** whoever was on the radio tonight greeted in a heavy accent as they directed the Batplane to land on airstrip 34. From the rear seat, Diana smiled wryly. 

"You seem to have made an impression," she commented. 

Bruce just hummed instead of actually replying. Their landing was a smooth one, for once he got to land the plane on an actual tarmac instead of some grassy field or rooftop. 

Landing in Corsica was pretty easy. If they knew you were coming. Otherwise, they really liked to shoot planes out of the sky.

* * *

"Diana, good to see you," Eumelia, leader of the Corsican Amazonians, greeted them with a wide smile and hugs. Both women were tall and dark haired, with gold coronets sitting atop their head, and armour from a time long past. Bruce had only met Eumelia the one time, two years ago, when a mission gone awry had demanded an emergency landing on the northwest corner of the island. At the time, he'd been met with swords and rifles and very nearly thrown over a cliff. 

"Good to see you again, cousin," Diana responded with a smile of her own, pulling gently away from the hug. 

Then Eumelia turned to him with appraising eyes. "Batman of Gotham," there was an interesting hum to her tone, as if she thought it utterly amusing," What can we do for you?"

Stepping forward, Bruce held up the ring. "I was hoping you could tell me who's ring this was," he said. 

Maybe it was her years of experience, or the Corsicans' uncanny natural ability to hide their thoughts, but whatever she was thinking upon seeing that ring, not even Bruce could tell. "May I see it?" she instead asked.

Seeing as he was 90% sure it belonged to one of her people, he handed it over with no argument. The leader of the Corsicans inspected the ring with a critical eye, her thumb brushing over the Moor's head. "Yes," she said quietly," This appears to be one of ours."

She sounded both surprised and not. "Do you know whose it was?" he asked. 

With a regretful frown, Eumelia handed it back to him. "I have a theory, and it will need looking in to," she answered diplomatically. With her poker face, Bruce couldn't tell if she was being honest or not. "Tell me how you came across this item," she implored. 

"I believe it belonged to a man who was killed a few months ago in my city," he told her," He went unidentified for some time, and it wasn't until I started investigating that I realized he was one of yours." 

The leader of the Corsicans frowned thoughtfully. "I was under the impression that many people died in Gotham," she mused," What made you want to investigate _this_ one?"

Ignoring the jab about the homicide rate in his city, Bruce told her with a small amount of bitterness," The body was staged to look like one of my sons." And to perhaps look like Batman had turned murderer, but he was leaving that part out. He still didn't quite understand what the B stood for, and until he could investigate further, he was keeping as much information close at hand as he could. 

Eumelia, for her part, seemed intrigued at the notion that he had sons. "A son, you say?" one of her eyebrows rose," Is it someone we know? Another one of your cape-wearing vigilantes?"

_'No,'_ he thought morosely,_' Jason hasn't worn a cape in nearly a decade.'_

Even Diana seemed concerned," One of your sons?" She turned her dark eyes on him, and already Bruce could see her doing a mental tally, counting when she last saw each of the boys. 

"The Red Hood," he admitted, to both Eumelia's curiosity and to ease Diana's worry, he added," I've already confirmed he is alive."

While Diana deflated with relief, Eumelia looked surprised. "The Red Hood is your son?" she breathed, then let out a small laugh with a smile," I never would've guessed."

Yes, yes, one of the Batman's sons had a knack for shooting people and killing, something he was _very much_ against. "We're getting off track here," he said gruffly," I would like to know what a Corsican was doing in Gotham to get himself killed."

Still, even the reminder did not wipe the smile off her face. "We have our enemies, just as I'm sure you have your own," she said cryptically.

"If there's a killer running around Gotham, then I want to know about it," Bruce argued. Amazonian or not, Gotham was still his city, and it would be up to him to deal with the matter and find who was capable of bringing down an Amazonian. The Corsicans were unique and followed their own rules, but that didn't mean they could have free range in his city. 

"Rest assured, our enemies do not believe in collateral damage, and only ever target those of our family," Eumelia said," Your Gotham people are safe." 

"And _what_ was he doing in Gotham in the first place?" he demanded. To his right, Diana made a face and a not-so-subtle nudge to his arm. But Bruce stood fast and continued to glare at the other Amazonian. 

Eumelia also made a face, and it was one of warning. "It will have to be looked in to," she repeated. Then she turned to Diana with a slightly kinder expression," It was good to see you, cousin."

Then with a curt nod to both of them, she turned around and exited the room. The door she exited out was soon guarded by no less than two Corsican guards. With no other option, Bruce and Diana returned to the plane. 

"You just _had_ to challenge her, didn't you?" Diana sighed," So what if a Corsican was in your city? Last I checked, Batman, you don't _own_ the city."

"It wouldn't matter if he was a normal citizen," he grumbled back at her," This was an Amazonian. I don't need any more outside powers bringing trouble into Gotham." He opened the hatch to the plane and jumped in. "We have enough of our own."

Diana rolled and followed him in. She muttered something under her breath, something that sounded suspiciously like,' No metas allowed, yeah I know.' Outloud, she asked," You're going to keep investigating this, aren't you?"

"Yep."

"And what about this whole 'staged to look like Jason's death' thing?" she asked, waving her hand with a sour look on her face," _Why_ would anyone want to fake his death?"

"Convenience, I assume," was Bruce's answer," He... left Gotham the day prior, and he hasn't been seen since. My guess is someone saw him leaving, and they used the opportunity to disguise the body as someone else."

"Jason's missing?"

She sounded so concerned, that Bruce twisted in his seat to glance at her face. Diana was fond of all his former Robins, but Jason always had a special place in her heart. No one was a bigger fan of Wonder Woman than Jason Todd, and even as a short 4 foot rascal, he'd done all he could to capture her heart. Bruce never told him, but he suspected Diana's fondness of the boy had been _because_ of his height. Timothy had been no different, having been the smallest of the Robins by far. 

"He's okay," he reassured her," He's been spotted once in Germany, up to his usual." It was hard, but Bruce managed to control his smile at the mental image of Jason riding a stegosaurus. 

"You know..." Diana hummed," If you're having trouble finding him, you _could_ ask for help." Even at Bruce's grunt, she persisted," Bruce, let us help."

"Jason will come back when he's ready."

"You and I both know he's as stubborn as an ox," she retorted with arms crossed. As he guided the plane out of Corsican airspace, Bruce pretended he didn't hear her mutter," He gets that from you."

Couldn't keep the small smile off his face though. 

"I won't let this go, Bruce," she added," And you know the rest of the League will help if you'd just _ask_."

Bruce turned enough in his seat to glare a warning at her. Diana threw up her hands in frustration," Fine! I won't tell Clark or the others." 

And he thought that was the end of that. As they flew over the Mediterranean, Bruce concentrated on the controls while Diana watched the waters below. Bruce didn't have to turn around to know there was a pensive look on her face.

As far as he knew, she hadn't been on the island in over fifty years. And that was for a funeral. "He would love it here," she mumbled. 

"Who?" he found himself asking. 

"Jason," and wasn't that both a surprise and not? 

"When you find him, let me know," she said, voice distant as if already planning it," I think he would like Corsica."

Bruce hummed noncommitally. Diana wasn't wrong. Jason _would_ love the Corsicans, especially once he learned they were an Amazonian sect that allowed males into their ranks. And he would love it here too; Jason had always been fond of tropical climates. 

And the Corsicans would love him right back. Bruce could see it already. Diana introducing him to the islanders; Eumelia offering him a place among them.

And right now... if given the choice between Gotham and Corsica....

Jason would choose Corsica. Every time. 

And Bruce would never see his son again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before things really get going, what are everyone's guesses as to what the heck is going on?  
Bonus: If you correctly (or close enough) answer these three questions, you may have ONE spoiler of your choice. (But shhh, don't share it!)  
1\. Who and what is Kinley Battaglia?  
2\. Why is Kinley in Gotham? (Hint: it's not because she enjoys the view)  
3\. Who do you think the Marchetti's are?


	21. Way to Be a Charmer, Tim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remember what they say about assuming...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nobody guessed correctly. New questions will be posted at end. Guess at your own risk.

Kinley wasn't on the roof that night when he dropped by, nor was she on her balcony. And when he glanced inside the apartment, he noticed a slew of empty Mike's Hard bottles on the table, but no Kinley in sight. Tim shrugged and decided he'd come back the next night.

* * *

**Fountain, fountain**   
**We are the same**

Much like that first night back on patrol after Jason left -and wow, has it really been been two months already?- Kinley was sitting on the roof with her phone faced towards the heavens. The purple glow from her phone told him she was looking at the stars. 

Tim glanced upward; Gotham was cloudy as ever. Kinley must really miss the stars if she was resorting to using a phone app just to see them. 

**You with the water**   
**And me with the pain**

He didn't recognize the song playing on her phone, but he didn't really need to, for she paused it as soon as he stepped down on the rooftop. Again, with more grace and fluidity than expected of a civilian, she pocketed her phone while simultaneously standing up with a full coffee mug. "Long time no see, Red," she said in greeting. 

Tim waved hello and leaned against the roof ledge. "Just checking to if things were all quiet on Jefferson," he shrugged. That was bold faced lie, but since when was Tim 100% honest?

Kinley apparently thought so too, as she hummed goodnaturedly. "This is Gotham," she snorted," It's never quiet."

_'Worse than the Big Apple,'_ he silently agreed. But again, this was Gotham, and he loved it. "So how not-quiet has it been in Crime Alley?" he asked," Anything I should know about?"

Kinley straight up laughed at him. "No, my informants," she told him," Go get your own."

"I thought that was what I doing," he retorted," There's a couple homeless guys who tell me rumors every now and then, but you're the only one who's ever given me anything worth listening to."

Was he talking about their first meeting, where she straight up accused him of covering up a murder? Granted she had helped Red Robin immensely by pointing him in Dimitri's direction, but that was it. 

"Oh no, don't look at me to be your informant," she shook her head," You at least gotta buy me dinner first."

"Cute," he drawled and she grinned back at him. 

"Besides, I'm still too new here," she protested despite having lived here for over 3 months now," I know approximately twenty people in the whole city and that's including the manager at the hardware store." Good old Bill, bless his heart. 

Red Robin didn't look too convinced. "Mmhmm," he nodded and this stupid little smile on his face that she _almost_ could accuse of being a smirk," Tell me, when was the last Arkham breakout?"

"May 3rd." Duh.

"Who all broke out?"

"A heck of a lot of baddies." The original list had been... extensive, and she'd had to do a lot of online searching just to learn who was who. 

"Any Rogues?"

"Who?" she blinked innocently up at him.

"The costumed ones."

Ah yes, the _fun_ ones. "Well, yeah. Killer Croc, who kicked your ass. Scarecrow, Riddler, Black Mask, Mister Freeze, Poison Ivy, Two Face, and some weird guy called Calender Man." 

"Who's still out?"

"Are you asking, or quizzing?" she narrowed her eyes at him in good nature. Red Robin met her head on with a challenging look on what she could see of his face. 

"Quizzing."

She suspected. "Just a guess here," Kinley shrugged and decided to go along with it," but Black Mask, Scarecrow, Poison Ivy, and Two Face. I don't know if you've caught some of them by now. If so, they haven't made the news yet."

He hummed like he wanted to say something but was having too much fun otherwise. "Who are the biggest players in this neighborhood?"

"Until recently, it was the Red Hood, which you knew. Now, power's fallen back to the drug gangs. I don't know any, but the names Maroni and Falcone are slung around a lot."

His smile grew and to her it looked a little creepy with that black cowl. "For someone who claims to not know much, you just spouted off a whole bunch of information."

"_Common_ information," she argued.

"Fine," he relented," But you picked it up quick. Three months or not, you hear a lot. Or you have someone who gives you this information as it comes along."

Kinley was torn between glaring at him and sticking out her tongue at him. "I'm not letting you go harass my friends." Except Dimitri. He's an ass and a betrayer and Red Robin could go annoy him to the ends of the earth. 

"But..." she interjected before she could go too far down that rabbit hole," if you really want informants, just go get them the same way Red Hood did."

He scoffed, his smile disappearing in a flash. "Killing and stuffing heads in a duffel bag really isn't my thing."

Kinley kicked a foot out a his shin. The fucker nimbly stepped away. "Gods, no wonder the Bowery people hate you guys," she cussed at him," You're such an ass."

"What, it's true!"

"Has he done it since?" she challenged. 

Recognizing that Kinley was getting in to her protective mode again (why was it always Red Hood?), Red Robin held up his hands to placate her. "Hey, no need to tell me he's changed," he berated. Even though he was inexplicably pleased about her new but strong defensiveness of Jason," I'm all for his M.O. of just maiming and not killing."

"But come on, we're never going to let him live it down."

She narrowed her eyes at him a full minute before deflating with a sigh. "Yeah, if I had a friend pull a stunt like that, I'd give him a nickname like Heads or something."

Oh good, over-protective Kinley had been appeased. "So, maiming drug lords aside: how do _you_ know how Hood got information?"

She looked at him like he was daft. "Think about it," she said instead of answering. 

Ugh, he hated when she did this. "I _have_ thought about it. But you keep forgetting that I've been kept out of Bowery just as much as everyone else," he snapped back at her," I have no clue what he got up to or where he got his info."

"Prostitutes, you dumbass."

"I- What?"

Kinley was equal parts exasperated and amused, as if baffled by how he hadn't come to that conclusion already. "They're all sweet on him," she said," I never got to meet him, but apparently he was on really good terms with a lot. It's a terrible but unavoidable job here, and the girls are often the first ones to be abused or killed. Red Hood protected them."

That... actually made a lot of sense and Tim was mad at himself for not realizing it sooner. Jason did have a lot of respect for women and had always been while not quite a ladies man, but to Tim it looked like he was always more at ease with a woman that he was another man. And he was always the first one to jump to a woman's defense. "Thanks," Tim said and meant it," I'll start with them." 

Maybe if he mentioned Red Hood, they'd be more likely to actually speak to him. Percieved Bat or not, Red Robin was starting to gain traction here in the Bowery. People looked relieved when he jumped down on mugger and drug dealers alike. One had even cheered him on that one time he beat down a dealer trying to convince a 12 year old (12!) to try meth. Still, he had a long way to go and he contemplated asking Kinley to help him in this latest endeavor but already knew she'd say no. 

She was always willing to give him advice, but never got directly involved. 

Even when she was, she stayed behind the scenes...

"I forgot to mention earlier," he said lowly, thoughtfully," Thanks... for the other thing."

She looked confused," What other thing?" then blinked in realization," Oh! Pointing you Dimitri's way?"

_'Among other things,'_ he thought then added," That, and the picture."

Something flashed in her eyes before she schooled it way. "Which picture?" she asked," I take a lot of pictures."

_'Gotcha.'_

"Dimitri told me where he got the picture to prove Red Hood was alive," he said slowly, enunciating carefully," I'm surprised you were able to get it so quick."

She smiled encouragingly at him. "Honestly, I didn't do much there. That was all my relatives in Germany. There's a lot of us-"

"-all around the globe. Yeah, Dimitri said that too."

"Really?" her smile was starting to crack at the edges. 

If Tim was going to push her, now was the time. "He's not a big fan of them," he added smoothly, as if nonchalantly," Kind of a surprise really, since I thought you two were friends. He seems to know you well enough."

Her face fell, all traces of her good mood vanished as if her smile was never there. Had he not been expecting it, or had he not been witness to the changes between 'Brucie' Wayne and Batman, Tim might've gotten whiplash. 

Kinley Battaglia wore a mask the same as they did. Hers just wasn't made out of fabric. 

"We're not," she said in reply to his comment of Dimitri," In fact, I recently just learned he's not that big a fan of me, either." Before Tim could ask about _that_, she asked," So did you get the full tirade, or just the passive-aggresive comments?"

Remembering Dimitri's unwillingness to tell Red Robin everything, Tim replied," Passive-aggressive mostly."

Her fingers tightened around her mug (and he could've sworn he heard something crack). "Leaving you to assume the worst," she said flatly," Which could be anywhere from Bond villain levels to full-on cult." Tim opened his mouth to -argue? agree?- speak but she cut him off," No, I've actually heard him call us a cult before, I'm not exaggerating."

He kind of wanted to ask,' _Are_ you a cult?' because he couldn't see Dimitri throwing that word around lightly. And hey, this was Gotham. It wouldn't be that out of place, there's a new cult every other Tuesday. She must've guessed the direction his thoughts were taken because she yelled," We're not a fucking cult!"

_'Then that only leaves one option,'_ he grimaced. "Then set the record straight," he replied back icily, pushing her own words from so long ago back against her," I'm still getting a lot of red flags when it comes to you, Kinley."

"You recently moved to Gotham -which honestly, no sane person does- and somehow already have ins to the underground. You have at least five dummy accounts to hide your background, so I know you're hiding _something_. As far as I can tell you have no legal source of income, yet somehow you're able to fix up this apartment from the top down."

"You and your family were able to do in four days what I couldn't do in weeks. A 'family' that has no business being that big or that wide spread, and yet somehow stay out of the spotlight. A 'family' that covers the globe, yet can be mobilized within days. All because you snapped your fingers and asked for the Red Hood. Tell me: if you asked for my head, how many Battaglias would be falling over themselves to get it?"

There was a faint growling sound, muffled and low and Tim was surprised to hear it coming from Kinley. He was not shocked however when she slammed her mug down on the roof's ledge. There was an explosion of ceramic and coffee as it broke into a dozen pieces. 

"You can take your accusations and shove them up your ass!" she screamed at him," I don't care what you say about me, but you do _not_ get to insult my family! They are _good_ people and I won't have you thinking any less of them!"

Her hand slammed down on the broken shards of ceramic again, so hard he almost felt like the concrete would crack under her palm as well. "Yes, it's a big fucking family and we're all over the world! Yes, we're all able to connect instantly but that's only because of a networking tool invented by a relative in Austria. Who right now is working on getting it distributed to relief aids all over the world to they can better organize rescue missions to disaster areas."

"_That's_ how they're able to do in four days what you couldn't do in weeks! Because unlike you and you stupid Bats, _we work together_! We work as a _team_! That's what we value! **_Teamwork_**! We're a family of cops, of soldiers, of doctors and social workers and security and analysts and scientists, but first and foremost, we're a family!" 

"What about Jonathon?" he snapped back at her. 

Kinley clenched her teeth and glared back at him, but he could not tell if it was from her previous anger or not. "Wasn't _he_ family, too?" Tim pressed on while he dug into one of his pockets," Or does your ideal of family and _teamwork_ end once someone stops being useful to you?"

"What..." the sound Kinley made was very near a growl," ...the fuck are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about _this_!" Tim slammed a 5x7 photograph onto the ledge, right next to the puddle of coffee and broken ceramic. The autopsy photo from their Jon Doe, the one posed to be Red Hood, was dark and gory and not for the faint of heart, but he still slammed it down because if Tim had to look at it, then so did she. "I'm talking about Jonathon Battaglia!" he yelled at her," I figured it out, Kinley. The B carved onto his chest wasn't for Batman. It was for Battaglia! And he was tortured and murdered and his identity hidden, and yet you stand there and tell me your family is full of a bunch of altruistic civilians?!"

She was dumbstruck, staring not at him but at the picture of a battered and destroyed man, his face crushed away like it was playdoh. There weren't many Jonathon Battaglias, but there was one that went missing in NYC... and he was big and had served ten years in the Army, enough to get plenty of scars.

"_You_ led me to this body," he pointed accusingly at the photograph," You told me everyone thought it was the Red Hood. You told me you believed that too. And for someone who's as stubborn as you, you sure changed your mind pretty quick when I told you it wasn't him. Which tells me you know all along who this really was."

She still wouldn't look at him and one hand reached out to pick up the picture. It crinkled in her hands, the corner of it shaking with the microvibrations caused by her clenched fingers. 

"What was he doing here, Kinley?" Tim demanded," And _why_ was he killed?"

"I don't know..."

"What?"

Brown eyes shot up towards him, their gaze -dark and obsidian like- piercing him with so much rage that it made her look an entirely different person. "I don't know," she repeated, her voice hard and sharp edged. "I have a cousin in New York, and as far as I know, _he's still alive_. So if you think this is Jonathon and you want to know what the hell is going on, then there's your answer. _I don't fucking know!" _

She crumbled up the photo and threw it at his face. "You think I was part of whatever the hell killed that man?!" she screamed at him," You think I would- what, that I would condone murdering someone and _destroying their fucking face?!_" Tim stepped back when she advanced on him, his eyes going wide behind his mask as Kinley's voice... changed. Her face was dark and her voice was darker.

"I have done _nothing_ but try and help this city and help you," Kinley's voice was little more than a snarl. Her snarl ended in a growl, her mouth open and closing as if she had more to say but with great restraint was stopping herself. "Just..." her eyes closed momentarily and her shoulders dropped," Just fucking leave." 

"Kinley-"

"I have nothing more to say to you!" she barked," Leave, and don't come back." 

She spared a glance at the broken shards of her mug, but didn't bother with the pieces. Wiping her coffee stained hands on her pants, Kinley made to walk way. Stomp away actually, in absolute fury. Even shouted back a, 'Fuck off!' when he tried to stop her. 

"And if you want to run a goddamn background check, my middle name is _Hypatia_! Maybe _then_ you'll realize I'm not some evil cultist or whatever!" then slammed the roof access door behind her. 

Tim stood shell shocked on the roof, trying to recover from... He didn't even know how categorize that conversation he'd just had. If it even was a 'conversation'.

**"You really know how to be charmer, don't you?"**

"Oracle!" he jumped. _'Shit, I forgot my comms on!_' "What are- How much did you hear?"

**"Don't get your bat-panties in a twist, I tuned in somewhere around a relative in Austria and a networking tool. I know the one she's talking about. It's a series of operators that coordinate large amounts of people at the same time."**

Shit, then she heard practically everything.

**"You know she had nothing to do with that body, right?"**

Well great... Tim despaired. Not only had Barbara just confirmed that he was 100% completely wrong about Kinley being in charge of a criminal organization or cult or whatever, but he should've _known_ he couldn't hide his movements from freaking Oracle. With a sigh, he leapt from the roof and shot off a grapple. Might as well finish his patrol. "Did you need something?" he asked. 

**"Who is she?"** Barbara questioned instead,"** A friend?"**

"No one," he answered briskly and even now he couldn't understand why he didn't want anyone to know about Kinley or Dimitri.

**"That's Kinley Battaglia, isn't it?"**

Tim's foot slipped on his next step. "How did you know?" he asked, amazed. 

Barbara hesitated before answering,"** Oh Red... if you were worried about her, you should've come to me long before this."** She sounded like she regretted not being able to stop him before he made a complete ass of himself.** "I did some more digging on Dimitri Shukis after that whole interview debacle. Nice job, by the way, Signal thinks Batman actually had an annuerism."**

Tim, having of course not been at the Manor the morning the article came out, had hid from Bruce for a good week before the man finally caught up to him. Their argument had been long and loud and eventually Bruce relented, saying he was sorry Tim had to deal with the fallout of their mistakes. (_Tim_ almost had an aneurysm when he heard that apology.)

**"The name Battaglia kept popping up in his student records,"** Babs continued,**" They paid for his entire tuition, then he got a lot of sponsors from them. Lots of letters of recommendations from European reporters. Got him his start in National Geographic."**

"It's a big family," Tim said absentmindedly, parroting back what's been said to him multiple times. Then he registered what she'd said. "Wait, you found out more on Dimitri?"

**"Dick's twin? How could I resist? Found some juicy stuff too."**

"I don't suppose you'd be willing to share?" he asked," And Kinley too?" Barbara was right. He should've gone to her about this long ago. If he wanted to know who Kinley was and what she was up to, Barbara would've been the one to find out. 

**"Nosy nosy,"** she sang in his ear. 

Against his will, Tim felt the corner of his lips quirk," You're the nosy one. I'm just curious."

**"Such a liar,**" she berated, knowing full well he was every bit as nosy and paranoid as Batman,"** Tell you what. Stop by the Clocktower and I'll share a little with you what I've learned about both Dimitri Shukis and Kinley Battaglia."**

"Deal," he was quick to agree. Finally, some answers. Figuring his patrol was as done as it was gonna get (there was no way his head was going to be in the game enough to be of any use out here), Tim changed directions and headed for the Financial District and the Clocktower. 

As he passed over the Finger River, a shadow was passing the other direction, heading straight for Park Row.

* * *

"Fucking asshole," Kinley was still seething when she made her way back to her apartment. In her fury, she slammed the door behind her, but on instinct caught it just before it could hit the doorjamb. It was... disappointing not to hear the loud bang of a door slamming shut, but there was that little voice in her head telling her she had neighbors. And it was nearing midnight. 

Sitll, she just wanted to _hit_ something. Whether that be Red Robin or Dimitri, she couldn't tell. Dimitri deserved it for being such a... such a... argh! and Red Robin for making his stupid assumptions. It would be so _satisfying_ to lay even just one fist into either of their faces. To erase that judginess from Dimitri's eyes; to break that suspicious frown from Red Robin's mouth. 

With more care than she really wanted, Kinley let the door close with a soft click. She took a deep deep breath; it was so shaky her entire body vibrated with it. And when she let the air out, it came our more growl than sigh. "Fuck you," she hissed, pushing away from the door. A fire burned beneath her skin and she needed to put it out...

...or feed it. 

"You think you know me? Think you can put all that I am into a little box, call us out like we're the goddamn nightmare?"

The drywall crumbled under her fist as she passed by.

"You think _we're_ the ones who are a threat?"

A kick tore the leg right off the nightstand she'd just built.

"A _cult_," the disgust was clear in her voice," Like we're just a bunch of evil thugs." It didn't take long to find her running shoes and a hair tie. Right now, it was all she needed. 

"One rule, they follow _one_ fucking -ouch!" she accidentally yanked a little too hard on her hair," and Dimitri, you fucker, you _know_ that!"

She caught a glance of herself in the mirror and before she knew it, her hand was buried knuckle deep in her reflection. Kinley froze, blinking astonishingly at what she'd just done. "Goddamnit," she gritted her teeth," Gods _damn_ it." Shattered glass fell to the floor as she pulled her hand away. 

_'Rule Number Five,'_ there was a whisper in the back of her mind.

There was a glimpse of her reflection in the remaining shards, a section with her brown eyes. A blink, and those same eyes flashed a hazel color. 

Kinley punched it again. 

"Fuck you, Alessia."

This time, she did slam the front door on her way out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since no one could correctly answer the previous three questions, here are some new ones.   
1\. If the Jon Doe was indeed Jonathon Battaglia, then who staged the body? And why?  
2\. Kinley sure has a big family. What is it you think they do?  
3\. How did the Corsican Amazons come to be? (Hint: Not the same way Bana-Mighdall was)


	22. Omnia Nos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When in doubt, ask Barbara.

Barbara was waiting for him when he arrived, her wheelchair turned so she could see him as he walked in. The look of understanding on her face was almost worse than the expression of disappointment he'd been expecting. Barbara knew why he'd been so secretive lately, knew what drove him to not trust his own family, and Tim hated that he was that predictable. 

"You got here quick," she commented. Tim threw a petulant pout her way. 

Taking a deep breath of her own and mumbling," Dick and his temper, and you with your secrets," near inaudibly, Barbara turned back to her monitors. "So what do you want to know first? Dimitri or Kinley?" she asked. 

Tim stepped up beside her. And because it was killing him inside," Kinley."

"Huh," Barbara hummed and pulled up a few files," She's not the criminal mastermind you think she is, Tim." A birth certificate and a number of ID's popped up: the decoys he came across while looking for her background information. All of them named Kinley Battaglia, all without picture ID's, all from various places around the world. Only one had the middle name Hypatia though. 

"Meet Kinley Hypatia Battaglia, " Barbara announced, englarging the ID labeled for an organization called Omnia Nos. Tim leaned forward and tried to read the information off the badge._ 'Member since 2005?'_ he wondered,_' Either she's a lot older than she looks, or Kinley started out really young.'_

"What's Omnia Nos?" he asked. It wasn't a name he recognized. 

"It's a global aid agency founded back in the mid 1600's," she told him," One of the oldest of its kind. It's recently ventured into developmental aid, but traditionally it's been a humanitarian organization."

"And what's her role in it?" he asked.

"Her mother, Anthea Battaglia nee Aronson, was the former head of Omnia's relief division; they would send aid to regions hit by war or environmental disasters."

That... sounded really good actually. In theory. But this was Gotham and Tim's come across more than his fair share of 'charities' and 'aid agencies' that showboat as humanitarian while actually operating as trafficking rings or the like. "How legit is it?" he had to ask. 

"They're the real deal," Barbara said confidently," It's publicly owned through a series of stock shares, some of which are owned by the Battaglias. Kinley herself is a major shareholder."

That was unexpected. Tim frowned and thought back if Kinley's ever mentioned Omnia Nos (she hasn't) or if she had any business knowledge (nope). But if she was a major shareholder to a centuries old organization... "Where do they get their funding?" 

"They deal in some communications, as you can probably tell with the networking program Kinley mentioned to you," Barbara turned to grin at him," Or more like _yelled_ at you. Then there's an entire division dedicated to the research and development of energy efficient methods, which they then market out to big name companies that are trying to go green." AKA: Omnia had a big presence in solar and energy. "For their Relief Division, it's a lot of fundraising. Charities, campaigns, private donors, the like."

It was the private donors that concerned him. That and the shareholders. Tim sat down in the extra chair at Barbara's side and looked over the screens and made a mental note to dig deeper in Omnia's history. There was something there. There had to be. 

"And Kinley herself?"

If Barbara noticed the trepidation in his voice, she didn't say anything about it even if she did sigh. "A lifelong volunteer," she told him," Been with Omnia ever since she was born, traveled all around the world on relief missions. She's even more well traveled than _you_."

And that's saying something. 

"Her quadruple citizenship blows Dimitri's dual nationality out of the water."

"_What?_" Tim's head whipped around to stare at her," Four citizenships?!" 

_'How?'_ was all he could think. How was that even possible? Did she go around taking citizenship tests in random countries or something? Barbara was almost laughing as she pulled up Kinley's birth certificate. "She was born in Pakistan, so naturalized there. By descent of her parents, she's also Italian and American. Then was granted Corsican citizenship when she was five." 

She did then laugh at the completely _baffled_ expression on Tim's face. He groaned at the headache building and rubbed at his temples. He came here for answers and instead just got more questions. And so far his doubts about Kinley were not being put to rest._ 'Shareholder in a global agency, citizen of at least 4 countries,'_ he bemoaned,'_ Possible heiress of an impossibly old family, and I still can't figure out what she's doing in Gotham. Kinley Battaglia, you are a headache!'_

"Please tell me Dimitri is semi-normal," Tim groaned. 

"Ah yes, our mystery twin," Barbara's expression turned thoughtful and then with practically a wave of her hand (or some button clicking) the ID's on the screen were replaced with various sources regarding Dimitri Shukis. "I still can't find any proof he's Dick's twin, but if he's not at least some distant relative, 3rd or 4th cousins or something, then I'll eat my keyboard," she declared. "Because seriously, _that_ is just uncanny."

_That_ being a picture of presumably a younger Dimitri all decked up in a 3 piece tuxedo, dark hair artfully brushed and gelled, with a picture perfect smile on his face. The only reason Tim knew it wasn't Dick was because of the adults in the picture, standing on either side of Dimitri with equally picturesque smiles on. 

It was downright creepy. (Both the fake smiles and the fact that _that_ looked just like a younger Dick)

_'That must be his aunt and uncle,'_ Tim surmised, though they looked nothing like him. Where Dimitri was dark hair and dark skin, his aunt and uncle were pale and blonde. They couldn't look any more different._ 'Are they seriously even related?'_ he wondered. 

"I'm actually not sure they _are_," Barbara said and oh, he hadn't realized he'd spoken out loud. 

"Wait, what?"

"I told you I did some more digging," she frowned at him, as if she couldn't believe he'd forgotten already," I wanted to know if I could trace his family backwards, wanted to see if and where exactly he's related to Dick, but..." her frown deepened," someone got sloppy with the paper trail."

A few seconds later with Barbara moving files around on her computer and Tim was looking at an assortment of birth and death certificates._ 'Him and his parents,'_ he realized. "There is literally no connection between the Shukis family of Gotham to the Balchunas in Lithuania," Barbara sounded almost angry by the prospect," There's plenty of custody papers and visas and travel documents, even his school enrollment in Lithuania. But before then, nothing. They just... popped up when his parents died."

Not to mention... Tim leaned forward and slid the mouse over to him. Barbara let him, watching carefully as he moved a few things around on the screen. At the end, there were the two death certificates for Mark and Lucille Shukis and Dimitri's adoption papers.

"I don't know about you..." he said lowly," but I don't know of any precedent in where a kid can be adopted by a foreign relative only one day after his parents have died..."

Barbara had a sad, small smile on her face. "I was wondering when you'd notice that," she said lowly," The official adoption is dated for the next day. But the request for adoption proceedings wasn't filed until 9 months later."

Similar to the feeling Tim got when he first heard Dimitri speak of the Battaglias, something cold and heavy settled in his gut, feeling like a punch. "The adoption was fake," he breathed. 

Barbara sounded apologetic when she gave voice to exactly what Tim was thinking," I think Dimitri Shukis was sold in a child trafficking ring."

* * *

Trenton (Trent for short) Battaglia was known as many things: a horrible flirt, an incorrigible little brother, a too observant motherfucker, and one hell of a cop. He wasn't always all of those things; he's had to work at them. 

He's fought his way through the police academy, pushing and pushing back against oppression on all sides. As modern as this world was, there was always that homophobic racist ready to push and shove at him. Only to discover that he was immovable. 

He wasn't always a little brother (or brother at all) but being at the wrong place at the wrong time ensured that he got a whole new family. It gave him new siblings; two brothers he looked up to, a brother who could barely speak, a sister he could never agree with, and another sister who never said what she actually meant. 

And so he became observant. 

A whole new world opened up to him, centuries of history and stories told to him, and things no one saw became visible to him. If Trent concentrated hard enough, sought out the patterns, he swore he could see _into_ people's eyes. Could see into their souls. 

Kinley used to laugh, used to ask what he'd see when he looked into her eyes. So he told her. It only took one word. A word that made her stop laughing, stop asking him; one word that she'd tried to purge from her mind. She stopped trying to lie to him after that, knowing he was one of the few to see right through her. 

"August."

No, that wasn't the word. A quiet voice interrupted his breakfast and he set down his spoon. Dark eyes slid over to Tariq Ibn Amal al-Battaglia, the quietest of the Battaglia family. Trent noticed his headphones were off, slung around his neck. 

"Yep, it's August," their mother repeated cheerfully, just happy to hear any words from Tariq. She'd been in a good mood all morning, having two of her sons home for the weekend enough to make her positively giddy with motherly joy. (Trent knew she missed the days where the breakfast table was a cacophony of noise and voices) "Is there something going on this month, Tariq?" she asked.

A slow nod, with careful deliberation so his head wouldn't drop forward too far for him to pull back up. His own dark eyes slid over to Trent instead of their mother. She noticed," Anything I can help with?" 

A slow, careful shake of his head this time. Tariq was quiet, but he was proud. If he didn't need help, he didn't want it, and Mother respected his wishes most of the time. (He was proud, but he was also stubborn and one time he spent two hours sitting on the ground because he refused any help to get back into his wheelchair). With a wry twist of her lips, she aquiesced and turned back to the eggs at the stove. There was a brief clatter as Tariq set down his spoon with shaky hands. No one commented on it, the noise was a common one in their household.

Trent lifted his head and locked eyes with his brother for the first time in days. "August," Tariq repeated, and to Trent it sounded almost accusatory. 

"Kin...Kinl..." his mouth fumbled around the L sound, his tongue refusing to move the way he wanted it to. 

Trent watched his brother carefully, knowing exactly what Tariq was telling him. "Yeah man, it's August," he reached a hand out and laid it palm up on the table between them," I know... I know." 

Tariq's gaze flickered to his hand before focusing back on his face with an intensity contrary to his condition. It was moments like these where Trent could look him in the eye and see the man he used to be. 

A shaky hand lifted and grasped Trent's with a familiar firmness. "Ah-own?"

Yeah, that was definitely an accusing tone. "Yeah, just this year, but Dimitri's there. He'll be able to help."

"Hemar," Tariq spat out.

"_Tariq_!"

Trent laughed at Mom's scandalized gasp.


	23. You Have....

"Well you don't see that every day," Officer Callahan said and took a bite of his breakfast sandwich. He crouched down and picked up a bit of brick from the rubble. "No scorch marks," he commented. 

"And no tire marks," his partner, Montoya, added after looking at the ground," I'm not sure _what_ hit this wall hard enough to crumble it like this."

Callahan, first name Gil, laughed," Oh we know _what_ hit it!" and gestured to the known dealer currently being loaded into the back of an ambulance. (And luck of all lucks, he still had all his wares on him!) The man had been found crumpled up at the base of an alley, directly below a human-sized crater in the brick wall. He'll live, but he won't like the bill. 

"Yeah, but who _threw_ him?"

In reply, Gil shrugged," One of the Bats? Didn't Red Robin start hanging out here after Hood left?"

"Or died, depending on who you listen to," Montoya said," But this isn't Red Robin's style; he doesn't tend to throw people through walls."

"Maybe he just had a bad night?"

She didn't look convinced. 

"It's not Red Robin, or any of the Bats."

They both turned and saw Commissioner Gordon walking up, as serious as ever in his trench coat and old school boots he still bought from Military Plus. "Commissioner?" Renee blinked," What are you doing here?"

"And why did you send us here if it's not Bat-related?" Gil asked," It's just a drug dealer; we should've let the C.A. division handle it."

Gordon pointedly looked at the broken wall," Anything about that look normal to you?"

"For Gotham?" Gil and Renee exchanged glances before answering," Yeah."

Alright, he had to give them that. He walked right into that one. "Does the name King sound familiar to you?" he asked. 

Gil was confused and he looked it. "King who? King Henry IV? King of the Hill? King Pin?"

Renee smacked the back of his head," Smartass." Then," No sir, the name doesn't sound familiar. Is it a title, like a new Rogue, or a last name?"

Jim Gordon inspected the brick wall, but found no identifying marks. "Just 'King', as far as I know. Three calls came in last night, four known busy bodies in the hospital. All within the same three block radius, but different callers. All with a surprising amount of damage."

"And you think this 'King' did it?"

"According to the callers, these guys messed with King, and this is what happens."

"Turf war?" Renee guessed. 

"Who were the callers?" Gil asked. 

"Only one gave a name: Sugar."

Gil's groan echoed throughout the whole alley, causing a paramedic to glance up. "Do you wanna know how many Sugars there are in the Bowery alone?" he lamented.

Gordon didn't feel the slightest bit bad as he grinned at his officers. "No, I don't know. But you're going to talk to all of them and find out which one knows King."

After he left, Gil complained to Renee," I really hope it's not another Rogue..."

* * *

**"You have one unheard voicemail."**   
**"Hey Kinley, it's Trent. It's August again, been about a week now. I'm sorry I'm not there to help you out this year. Please just... give me a call when you get this."**

* * *

The coffeemaker made a little ding when it finished the cup. Kinley flinched -violently- at the sound. She's not sure _why_ she flinched, she just did. She hated it, this hypersensitivity, this all-encompassing paranoia. But... there was nothing for it. 

_'Rule Number One,'_ she chanted to herself in attempt to keep herself in check. 

One more band-aid slapped on her elbow and she called it good. (Maybe it was time to invest in some elbow pads, asphalt was _not_ her friend). Carelessly stepping over the still shattered pieces of mirror, she poured herself a cup of coffee.

_'Rule Number One,' she_ told herself,_' Rule Number One. Rule Number One.'_

* * *

**"You have two unheard voicemails."**   
**"Hey Kinley, it's Trent again. Just calling to check in on you. Call me back."**

* * *

"I dunno man," Earl, known meth dealer and all around annoyance, shrugged as best he could from his hospital bed," Memory's a bit fuzzy. Alls I 'member is a pretty face and the color red."

"Was just tryin' to 'ave some fun," Henry, who for the most part had no convictions (but a whole list of suspected assaults that never went anywhere in court), was just as helpful," Saw a pretty young thin' running through the alley when I was-" he paused, eyes shifting," Anyways, I stopped to 'elp, going about ma business when I got sucker hit."

He lifted up his shirt to reveal the large bruise blooming on his right side. "Tha' guy was big, I tell ya," he said," Stood over me like a giant."

Robbie, another dealer, this time in something a bit.. more extreme, was even less help. "Lil hussie," he grunted, " O' was it a twink? Lil thing, wearing red I knows. O' it could've been grey. But it was some guy, for sure. I know no girl can hit that hard."

By the end of it, Montoya was about ready to bang her head on the table. Gil actually was. "Please tell me you're having more luck than me," he begged. 

She shook her head. "Hits like a semi, possibly a red shirt. Possibly female, possibly male."

Gil actually looked apologetic," Yeah that totally narrows it down. Any luck with the sketch artist?"

She pulled the sketches out of her bag with a sound of disgust. "So our mystery person of the week is either Natalie Portman, Orlando Bloom, or freaking Wonder Woman."

"Ugggghhh," he smashed his face into the break table again.

* * *

**"You have three unheard voicemails."**   
**"Kinley, it's Macie. You haven't check in in a few days. Just... let us know if you need anything."**

* * *

"Huh..." the shopowner of Montey's Pharmacy, just off the Morrison Harbor, scratched his head at the sight before him. He'd been meaning to move that pile of rubble from the front of his shop for a while now. But it looks like someone beat him to it. 

He just wondered where they put those big chunks of concrete.

* * *

"What the fuck?!" Tito, a well known and well disliked pimp, yelled in fury upon seeing his baby. His poor, beautiful Pontiac GTO with its canvas roof now caved in by chunks of concrete and rebar.

* * *

**"You have four unheard voicemails."**   
**"Hey, it's Trent. You know, your brother? Do you have any clue why Dimitri's not answering my calls or texts? I know Michael told us he asked for zero contact, but come on. You're not answering my calls either, sis. Pick up your goddamn phone."**

* * *

Jason tilted his head and stared at the utter baffling image of a bunch of rusted old ships in the middle of the freaking desert. "So freaking weird," he muttered and held up his phone. 

Click. The image of a whole ship sitting pretty in a sandy desert was forever memorialized in a picture. "Moynaq is creepy," he said even as he sent the picture off to Pterodactyl. 

Next to him, Roy shrugged. "You're just saying that because it's not an underwater shipwreck."

"That's because ships are _supposed_ to be in water!"

"But that makes it harder to turn it into an arms dealing base," Roy joked even as he grinned. 

Jason rolled his eyes and stuck his phone back in his pocket. "Cheap ass war mongers," he complained even while putting his helmet on," Come on, let's go kick some ass."

* * *

"Are you, uh, _sure_ you don't need help installing it?" the guy at the boxing gym eyed her warily. 

Not even sparing him a second glance, Kinley picked up the heavyweight bag like an oversized duffel. "I've got it," she told him and threw it in the back of a cheap Chevy S10 rental," Thanks though."

* * *

She carefully swept up the shards of mirrored glass. In a large chunk, she caught a glimpse of herself. And for a second, she thought she saw blue eyes instead of brown. They looked sad.

"Shut up," she grumbled and threw the pieces into the garbage," Not everyone can be like you, Thalassa."

* * *

The music was changing, flickering between songs like a fast-mode shuffle. "Shinedown," she suggested and finally it settled on 'Sound of Madness.'

She should probably wrap her hands for this. But it felt too good to just hit that heavy bag with her bare fists. To feel the rub of leather scratch against her knuckles. It felt good to just hit and hit and _hit_ until she could think of nothing else. 

**I think you need a shotgun blast**   
**A kick in the ass**   
**So paranoid**   
**Watch your back**

_"You're always so sure of what you are,"_ she could remember thinking how white his teeth were, which was odd because at the time he had a knife at her throat,"_ that you never question what you **could** be."_

_'I know who I am,'_ Kinley said then and she thought now_,' I know what I am.'_

**Quicksand's got no sense of humor**   
**I'm still laughing like hell**

"Rule Number Five," she grunted and hit the bag.

_(The cave wasn't dark. Getting there had been dark, scrambling down hidden paths, feeling along the walls and stumbling in the sand. But when the tunnel let out into a massive chamber, she emerged into an underground cavern filled with water and light. Torchlight lit the entire chamber, fire's warm light bouncing off the walls and reflecting off the water's surface. _

_No one was there waiting for her.  
_

_She sat down at the water's edge and waited.)_

**I created the sound of madness**   
**Wrote the book on pain**   
**Somehow I'm still here**   
**To explain**

_("Lookit what we have 'ere boys," his smile was yellow and crooked and **cruel** as he stared at her little body," A little missus thinking she's a big girl now." Her body shook in righteous fury as she held the broom in front of her like a weapon. Behind her, the even littler ones cried but she couldn't hear their cries over the sound of blood rushing in her ears. _

_"Don't come near us!" she screamed at the men.)_

Kinley hit the bag so hard the rafter it was hanging on creaked under the pressure, but luckily it held. 

**You can sleep with a gun**   
**When you gonna wake up and fight?**

_(It was sunny the day of the funeral. That alone seemed like an injustice to his memory; it should've been raining. Only rain could've properly demonstrated her grief, her pain on this day. Rain was supposed to be cleansing, to be able to wipe clean her soul and all the darkness that clung to it. Instead it just festered here in the heat, baking under the Vauxbin sun._

_She was one of the last to step up to the grave. Freshly dug and freshly filled. In her hand, she held the knife that had killed him, broken into two pieces. She'd wanted to melt it down, destroy it completely, but knew it wouldn't bring him back. So in her despair, she had snapped it in half. _

_Now she laid the pieces on top of his grave.)_

**Looking so sorry that I'm gonna believe**   
**You've been infected by a social disease**   
**Well, then take your medicine**

_("Who are you?" the woman's eyes were wide with both fear and awe._

_She barely glanced at her, a side-eyed gaze as she walked past. She was busy and had more important things to do. _

_The other woman stumbled after her, clutching her bag like it was all she had in life. It probably was. "Wait!" she called," Wait for me!"_

_She did not slow down and wait for her.)_

**When you gonna wake up and fight?**   
**For yourself?**

Her vision was starting to blur, either from the sweat or tears, Kinley honestly didn't know. Her knuckles were numb and she hit and hit and hit until her heart felt just the same. 

She didn't even noticed when the music changed from one song to the next, only that the beat changed and with every drumbeat she laid another fist into the leather covered sand.

**Oh my eyes are seeing red**   
**Double vision from the blood we've shed**   
**The only way I'm leavin' is dead**

_("**What** are you?"_   
_"I am whatever you need me to be.")_

**They don't know, where we've been**   
**We got that concrete street skin**

_("I didn't sign up for this," he said, his expression a mixture of frustration and disgust," **No one** signs up for this!" The sound of metal hitting the wooden floor felt like a door slamming on her heart. The ring laid between them, thrown down in anger. _

_She didn't say anything. She **couldn't**. She could only stand there and stare in shock as he walked out the door. Out in the hallway, she could hear Trent's voice," Oh, we were just coming to get- What's going on? Where are you going?"_

_"I'm going back home!" he shouted as he walked away. _

_As soon as his footsteps faded away, Trent peeked his head into the dressing room to find Kinley tearing the dress into long strips and throwing them into the fire.)   
_

**But there's no doubt we'll get out from the bottom of the barrel**   
**Oh, our flag is tattered**   
**And our bones are shattered**

"Rule number five," she grunted and kicked the bag. Sweat ran down her cheek so she wiped it away, leaving only a smear of red behind.

"Number five," she huffed with every hit. THUD. "Number five." Thwack! "Number five." BAM. "Number five."

**The only way I'm leaving is dead**

* * *

**"You have five unheard voicemails."**   
**"Kinley, sweetie, it's Mom. Trent says you're not calling him back. I know... I know this is getting tough on you, but please remember you're not alone in all this. We're behind you, the _family_ is behind you. All you need to do is let us help. Love you, sweetie."**


	24. "A Cop Walks Into a Bar..." End of joke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone's favorite purple-haired trans goddess is back.

Gil sauntered in to the bar. Well, he thinks he sauntered. But to be honest, the sharp eyes the bartender immediately stabbed him with threw him off a bit. There wasn't a sneer on his face, but there were ones on the group of guys at the pool table. 

He had to stop himself from looking down to make sure he hadn't worn his uniform in here. But he _specifically_ remembered putting on jeans and a ratty grey sweatshirt. His shoes were a little shinier than Montoya liked, but sue him - Gil doesn't go undercover all that often.

Mustering up all his bravada, he sauntered (he likes that word and he's sticking with it!) in. By the time he got to the counter, he realized the bartender was a lot bigger than he'd realized. With a look that said he'd sooner stab Gil than serve him a drink, he stared Gil down. "What'll it be?" he huffed. 

"Coors for me."

Big N Scary offered no comment, just grabbed a Coors Lite from the cooler. He sat it down on the bartop with a clunk, hand on top. Gil waited for him to let go so he could grab it, but Big N Scary didn't move. 

It took Gil an embarrassingly long time to figure out he was waiting for payment. Like hell he was going to open up a tab, so Gil dug into his pocket. A look in his wallet revealed a couple tens. 

He got $4 back in change. 

_'Most expensive can of beer I've ever bought,'_ he grumbled to himself, but didn't argue. 

Gil took a gulp of his drink -one of the few times he's actually getting _paid_ to drink on the job- and thought. This was one of the lesser known bars in Park Row. Well, lesser known to the cops. There was hardly any issues here, they were never called and as far as Gil was concerned, there hadn't been any murders here lately. Though that group of dancers on the stage made him wonder if it was just a front for something else. 

"So..." he started and the bartender glanced at him," I'm lookin' for someone." Big N Scary paused in pouring a glass of vodka neat and raised one brow. Gil took that as permission to continue.

"Know anyone named Sugar?"

A tiny huff of air escaped the larger man -dear God, was that a laugh or a sigh of annoyance?- before he finished serving the drink to a grizzled man. Gil looked over at the other man and was met with a snarl behind a bush grey beard. That was a challenge if Gil ever saw one, but then he spotted the gang tats and wisely decided not to push. 

The grizzled gangmember took his drink and left, leaving Gil alone at the bar with just the bartender and a tall pretty woman with purple hair sitting at the end. 

"Lots of Sugars 'round here," Big N Scary spoke," Got a type? Or do you just like the name?" Something about the way he pitched his voice told Gil that the bartender knew he wasn't just looking for a quick lay. He pushed on through though.

"Just like the name," Gil smiled, flashing a crooking smile that got him the nickname Face," A girl named Sugar tends to be a little sweet, if you know what I mean."

There was that huff of air again. Big N Scary pushed off from the bar -when had he learned forward into Gil's space?- and grabbed an ice bucket. Dumping it out in the sink he said," Wish I could help you, but sorry, no go. I don't got any girl named Sugar on call." Dark eyes peered right into Gil's soul," If you know what I mean."

"What about King?"

The last of the ice fell with a chorus of crunching. Big N Scary didn't answer at first, just righted the bucket and stared him down. The way he reached to pick up another bucket he hadn't seen before gave Gil a good look at the knife tattoo on his arm.

And the six tally marks. 

"Another name preference?" he asked flatly.

Gil took a risk. "An old friend."

"Funny," a voice spoke behind him, low and amused," King never mentioned _you_."

He spun in his seat and saw the woman from down at the end of the bar now standing before him. She was... taller than he'd judged. 

And oh, that's why. That voice was too low to be anything other than male. 

"King ain't here today, but if you wanna chat..." she -he? they?- left the sentence open and turned away. Gil blinked, not sure what to do until she/he/they glanced back over their shoulder with a toothy smile. 

"You coming, Officer?"

Well fuck. He's been made. 

Cursing himself and this stupid case, Gil followed after. He was led to a booth partially hidden by a half wall next to the front entrance. He hadn't noticed it before. The lady with the man's voice slid into the booth while he hesitated. "Don't worry, I only bite if you want me to."

Gil sat down. From this angle, he could see the entire bar. Including Big N Scary, returning from the back room with two buckets of fresh ice. 

"What gave me away?" he asked. 

"What _didn't_ give you away?" he got instead of an answer," Undercover isn't your thing is it, Sweetling." It was not a question. 

In for a penny, in for a pound. "Detective Gil Callahan," he introduced himself with a charming smile.

The smile he got in return was flirty as well. "And you can call me Coco."

"Well then Coco, what _did_ give me away?"

She laughed at his utter curiosity. "You're too dolled up, handsome. A clean shaven face and nice shoes. And _no one_ has hair that coiffed and goes to a bar like this."

"Not to mention, only cops ask so many questions. Most people just come in here, get their drink, then either go sit or go watch the girls." The girls probably meaning the myriad of "dancers" milling around that he's been trying to ignore. 

"Speaking of questions, why are you even talking to me then?" he had to know," If you know I'm a cop?"

She laughed," See what I mean? So many questions. Well I have one of my own. Why are you looking for King?"

Aha! Gil did a victory dance in his mind. Finally, someone who knew who this mysterious King was. "What do you know about King?" he asked.

But if he thought she'd give up her information just like that, Gil was sadly mistaken. Instead, she grinned and laughed at him. "It don't work like that, Sweetling," she told him with teeth too white for Crime Alley," You answer my question before you get to ask one of your own."

Gil frowned," I didn't realize we were playing 20 Questions."

Coco rested her chin on one fist while her other hand idly swirled her glass. The look she was giving Gil was full of hunger, like she wanted to devour him alive. "It's one of my favorite games," she admitted," I like the men who sit in my booth, and I make it a point to make them feel welcome."

At the moment, Gil felt anything but welcome. Especially when he glanced up and saw Big N Scary leaning his elbows on the bar top, staring intently at their booth with eyes that promised Gil a slow death should he do something he didn't like. "I just want to know where I can find King," Gil muttered. 

"Honey, you can't just go looking for someone and expect them to just fall in your lap," Coco hummed and took a sip of her martini, then looked thoughtful," Though that _is_ always fun when that happens."

Gil almost made a quip like,'_ Does that happen to you a lot?'_ but decided he liked his balls right where they were, thank you very much. Instead he replied," It's kind of my job."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why are you looking for King in the first place?"

Gil chewed on the inside of his cheek, thinking. Coco already knew he was a cop; had made him from the instant he walked through the door apparently. It was obvious he was supposed to be undercover, looking for a person named King. There were very few reasons why a cop would be looking for somebody in the heart of Crime Alley, and if he lied about it now, then whatever information Coco knew would be lost to him unless he took her downtown to be officially interrogated. 

And possibly lose all headway he's made so far. 

"My superior wants me to bring him in for questioning," he admitted. 

"Why?" she asked, but by then Gil was already grinning back. 

"Nuh uh, you said 20 Questions. I believe it's my turn now."

Coco blinked in astonishment, not expecting him to turn that around on her, but then threw her head back and loudly laughed. "Oh Sweetling, I like you!" she crowed," Alright, ask away, Handsome. Feel free to ask something dirty."

"Do you, inequivocally, know King? You're not just yanking my chain here?" 

She smiled and answered with a succinct," Yes," and left if at that. Which fine, he should've expected a one worded answer with a closed ended question like that. Now it was her turn. "Why did your superior send you into the lion's den, armed only with a name?" she asked. 

Gil leaned back and took a drink of his Coors. "Might have something to do with the fact that he put three men in the hospital last week," he said.

One of Coco's finely manicured eyebrows slowly went up. "He did, did he?" she hummed, almost as an afterthought instead of an actual question. While she pondered over that, Gil took the opportunity to ask his next question.

"How do you know King?"

This time, she looked all too happy to answer that. "First time I met King, I watched as he broke a man's wrist."

Which... brutal. But then Gil remembered the sight of Clyde Hartstrom lying in an alley, underneath a hole in the wall where someone had thrown him. Whoever this King was, a broken wrist was nothing compared to his rampage last week. "Now my question," Coco broke him out of his thoughts," How do you know?"

"Know what?" 

"That is was _him_? Maybe it was Red Robin. He's been known to hang around here more often lately." 

"Witnesses claim it was someone named King," he said. 

It was almost scary how quickly she guessed," Sugar." 

Gil eyed her, wondering why she was being so nonchalant about all this," You knew about it, didn't you? 

Her responding smile was about as fake as fake could be. "I can honestly tell you this is news to me," she said. Gil didn't believe her at all. "Why so interested anyways?" she asked, pressing on as if that was going to stop him from calling her out on her lie," What does a detective from the nice part of town care about a couple of dealers and rapists who got the shit beat out of them?"

Hah! "I didn't say they were dealers and rapists," he practically threw a finger in her face, highlighting her slip up. She had to know something!

"But they were, weren't they?" she just smiled, not even showing the slightest bit of concern," Cuz King doesn't fight without a good reason. Anyone who deals to kids or abuses women immediately lands themselves on King's shit-list."

Rapists and anyone who deals to kids. To Gil, that M.O. sounded a heck of a lot like Red Hood. _'But he's not here anymore,'_ he thought,'_ Right?'_

He thought a moment about asking if King was Red Hood, but decided that couldn't be it. If the Hood was back, he wouldn't be quiet about it. If Red Hood was behind those assaults, the damage would have been worse. If the Hood was _back_, they'd know about it. " So you're saying this 'King' is what... another vigilante?" he guessed. Either a copy cat, or someone who looked up to Red Hood and wanted to continue his work, Red Robin or not.

"What is it _you_ think?"

_'I think this is one big ass headache.'_ Outloud, he said," I think you know more than you're telling me." Coco's eyebrow rose, this time in challenge, and Gil rose to it," I think you know exactly who King is, and where I can find him. I think King is just a name and he's just some guy in a mask either trying to fill in some very large shoes or trying to make a name for himself in Crime Alley."

And yet still that damned smile would not leave her face. "Oh honey..." she leaned forward and Gil found one hand laid gently on his knee," All this bravado, all this _surety_ in your words..." she eyed him like he was nothing more than a meal," that hot look in your eyes that you tell yourself you're right..."

Then she pushed off him, sliding out of the booth and downing the last of her martini in one go. When she smacked her lips, the smile was back on her face and this time it was mocking. "And yet everything you think you know is wrong."

And next thing Gil knew, there was a large presence at her side and he found himself looking up, then up some more to see Bartender Big N Scary looming over him. "Now I think it's time you left," Coco cooed at him, as if she hadn't just summoned some hit man to loom over him," I have a drink calling my name."

At Big N Scary's resulting stare (not even a glare, just a staredown as if he fully expected Gil to go along with whatever he demanded, no questions asked. Gil wasn't about to prove him otherwise though...) Gil slid out from the booth and stood up. "You know we'll find King, right?" he directed at Coco," He can't hide forever."

With a smile, she turned around and started walking towards the bar. Over her shoulder she called back," Sweetling, I like you. You're cute. And naive. Feel free to stop by anytime."

* * *

By the time Stan returned to the bar, Coco had made herself a nice, refreshing Cosmopolitan and was sipping on it with barely contained glee. Slipping back behind the bar, he sighed. "Why do you do that? Now you got the cops all paranoid about a vigilante that doesn't exist." He threw her a sour look, his frown looking more like a scowl," I thought it was just a nickname you were giving Kinley. What are you trying to make her into?"

Coco's smile might have been contagious had it been anyone else. "I'm not _trying_ anything," she argued," Say what you want, Kinley _is_ kingly; no matter where she goes, people will follow her." Her martini glass was set gently down on the bartop as she folded her hands under her chin. "I just gave her the name because she needed a title people will respect."

Stan might know her methods, but he couldn't understand her reasons. "And egging on the cop was just part of the fun?" Because that was a heck of a lot more than just giving Kinley a nickname. 

"No..." Coco replied," Egging on the cop is trying to point him in the wrong direction. Now he's looking for a man in a mask, and not a pissed off little girl who smashes brick walls."

* * *

_"Hey, haven't heard from you in a while. Still alive?"_   
_"If you don't want me texting you any more, at least do me the courtesy of just saying so."_

Still no reply. Jason stared at his phone, saw the little delivered notification in the corner of the text box -same as all the texts before that- and wondered. Another week come and gone, and still... nothing. 

"What do you think is a better idea: making a birthday cake or just eating the batter raw?" Roy asked, completely oblivious to Jason's dark mood. "Then again, if we're going for eating it raw, cookie dough would be the way to go," he kept talking while pulling things out of the refrigerator," I know everyone's going on about salmonella, but like that's going to stop me from eating cookie dough." 

At this point, he looked up and saw Jason leaning against the counter, typing at his phone with a focused expression. "Still texting Pterodactyl?" he teased," Man, you've been checking that thing _constantly_ all week. So was I right and you guys have finally moved onto phone sex?" 

Jason didn't put the phone down, but the look he shot Roy was particularly dark. "No," he snapped," And it's not going to happen." 

_'Well obviously not if you're that cranky,'_ Roy thought then stood up and leaned against the fridge with crossed arms. "Are you guys having a fight or something?" he asked.

"No."

Yeah, _that_ sounded convincing. "Are you sure?" Roy pressed," Because it sounds an awful lot like you two are fighting. I haven't heard your phone screech in a while, you know. Is this the silent treatment or some-"

The phone smashed into the wall with a resounding CRACK!

The look of shock on Roy's face when Jason hurled his phone across the room was nothing compared to the expression of horror on Jason's face at what he'd done. He's not even sure _why_ he did it. Only that he was..._ 'Am I this upset?'_ he wondered, then realized, yes, he was upset. Because it was his birthday and Roy was asking if he was having a fight with Pterodactyl but in order to have a fight she would have to be talking with him. And it's been almost two weeks and Jason hadn't heard a single reply from her. Two weeks of complete silence, no warning, no goodbye, and it only reminded Jason that in the end everyone leaves and all he had was Roy.

And it only made him angry. So fucking what if Pterodactyl decided to ghost him? So fucking what if his own family didn't even want him and so fucking what if he could never go back home? Fuck them and fuck Gotham and fuck this phone and-

-and next thing he knew, it was in pieces. 

In the time it took Roy to turn to him with a worried look, Jason already regretted it. _'That was my last link,'_ he realized. That really was his last link he had to his hometown, and he had just destroyed it. His last link to views of a sunrise over Gotham's skyline. His last link to random pictures of Red Robin (decked out in full gear; glaring or smiling; clutching a coffee mug or yelling to 'put that phone down!') His last link to the one person on the planet he felt vulnerable enough to spill his fears and hopes to. 

His last link to the girl from the train station. 

_'It doesn't matter,'_ he thought viciously. It didn't matter, it didn't matter, it _didn't_. And just to prove how much it didn't matter, he just scoffed and left. Went out, gone for a walk, to get some grub, he didn't care _where_, he just left. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jason is straight up not having a good time right now.


	25. Hate the Drink, Hate the World More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason Todd hated alcohol. But tonight he hated the world more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for attempted sexual assault. No graphic description.

Jason hated liquor. He _hated_ it. Hated the way it burned down his throat, the way it smelled, the way it made men act. Beer he was fine with. It tasted just fine to him, felt more like drinking water than anything, and it just made him sleepy. 

But tonight was a whiskey kind of night. 

Pterodactyl's favorite drink was a Hot Toddy. No idea why that thought popped into his head, but it just did. Unbidden and unwarranted as he watched the bartender pour about an inch worth of amber colored liquor into a glass. (_"For when the nights are cold,"_ she'd told him once. When he'd pointed out it was the middle of summer in Gotham, she'd responded,_" I'm not talking about the weather."_)

"Could I get a Hot Toddy, too?" Jason blurted out when the bartender handed him his drink. The clean-shaven man gave him a look, but obliged by pulling out another glass, this one oddly shaped with a little handle. Jason sipped his cheap whiskey as he watched the bartender pour first brandy then hot water into the glass. It burned down his throat and god he _hated_ the taste, but the hot sensation in the back of his throat then in the pit of his gut felt welcomed. For when the nights are cold, indeed.

The honey drizzled into the glass at the end intrigued Jason and he realized maybe that was why Pterodactyl liked it so much. And when he finally put his hands around the cup, felt the warmth just _seep_ into his fingers, that he felt himself relaxing the tiniest bit. It didn't burn like the whiskey did, the flavor smoothed by the water and honey. But it felt warm in his hands. 

(_"Are you okay?"_ her voice echoed in his head, a long ago memory of a train station.)

_'No, I am fucking not,'_ Jason grumbled to himself and drank his liquor. God, he hated the stuff. But tonight, he hated the world more.

* * *

The next morning, Jason had a stupid hangover and his mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton. Looking back, he knew he shouldn't have gone to a bar. He hated drinking. Being drunk was stupid and people made bad decisions then blamed it on the alcohol and then you wake up the next day with a hangover and you just hate the world. 

But he figured he hated the world already, might as well give himself a reason to. 

So with the next morning, he woke up with a hangover and a mouth full of imaginary cotton and he still hated the world. He stumbled out of his room in search of a glass of water and nearly tripped over a small white box laid at the foot of his door. After catching himself against the doorframe, he looked down and wondered where it came from. 

Then he picked it up and saw the post-it note stuck on top. **"The new number is xxx-xxx-xxxx. I couldn't save the old one, but the data was still intact. Please don't forget that I'm here to talk too."** It was signed,**" Love, Roy."**

Jason stared at the little white box for a full minute before slowly opening it. And sure enough, inside was a brand new phone, with a red case and even the Red Hood logo printed on the back. When he turned it on, the first thing he did was open the contacts list and he felt like laughing. 

He should've known Roy would transfer the old phone numbers from the old sim card to the new. And there, right above 'Roybird' was 'Pterodactyl'. 

Before he could stop himself, he sent a text. _"Hey, it's me, from the train station. Old phone broke, so new number."_

Then on a whim, he looked at the camera app and found all his old pictures there too. Every picture of Gotham, every video of Red Robin, every little glimpse of a balcony covered with plants and ridiculous coffee cups. 

Jason stumbled down the hall and knocked on Roy's door. 

"Mmm whazzit?" Roy sounded half asleep. Figuring that was good enough permission to enter, Jason opened the door and peered inside.

Roy was sprawled out on his bed with the most impressive bed-head Jason's ever seen, raising his head from the mass of blankets and pillows he's thrown together. "Morning Jaybird," he greeted with a tired smile. 

"Mornin'..."Jason echoed," Hey, I uhh..."

Roy stared at him quietly, calmly waiting for him to say whatever he came here to say. 

"Umm, thank you," he whispered," for the phone..."

A long moment passed between them. Jason staring at the floor and Roy staring at Jason. Finally, silently, Roy lifted the edge of the blanket up in invitation. 

Jason was across the room and under that blanket in less than ten seconds. Roy was warm from sleep and didn't say a word as he settled himself in. He waited patiently until he could lay his head on Jason's arm before asking," Wanna talk about it?"

"Not really."

And that was okay, as Roy mumbled and closed his eyes to go back to sleep. Absentmindedly, Jason rubbed at his chest. "Scar hurting again?" Roy asked, eyes still closed but knowing the motion by heart. 

"Just sore."

"Mmm," he mumbled again and peeked one eye open. Jason was staring at the ceiling, but Roy was confident he'd soon fall back asleep. And if he noticed that Jason wasn't rubbing his scar, but a little to the left, well... then Roy wasn't going to point it out to him.

* * *

The streets of Gotham were dark and dingy and it was not a safe place to be at night. That being said, not everyone had the luxury of somewhere to go at night. Or had the smarts enough to not stay out past sunset. 

Especially in Crime Alley.

"Stop! Please!" Therese (Terri for short) screamed and pulled against the tight grip around her arm. But the fingers wrapped around her upper arm felt like steel bands and tightened even further. "Let me go!" her voice cracked with fear and panic and her fingers clawed uselessly at the hand. 

She _knew_ she should've have stayed at Breanna's tonight! Once she had realized how late it had gotten, she should've just _stayed_ and not bet on that she could make it home before anything bad happened. 

'Bad' being the man who blocked her way in the street and was now dragging her further and further into a dark alley. He was tall and lanky and the smile on his face had turned cruel when Terri tried to run past him. She knew... she knew the instant he stepped out in front of her, asked where she was going in such a hurry, commented on how young and pretty she looked... she knew what kind of man this was. 

But he'd caught her, fingers as cold and unyielding as steel grasped her upper arm, and he pulled her back into his chest where his other hand came up to cover her mouth. Just as she'd been taught by her mother, Terri bit down on his hand as hard as she could. It was _gross_. Sweat and dirt and grime and even blood entered her mouth and made her want to gag and vomit. But he removed his hand and that was what mattered, even as he swore at her," You little bitch!"

"Let me go!" Terri yelled and struggled against his hold. She broke away from his body, but when she tried to run he just yanked her back with his grip on her arm. 

"C'mere," he grinned at her," No need to run now, girlie. It's just you and me, right now. Ain't nobody here."

And then it happened. 

A flurry of pounding footsteps, loud and echoing, and Terri's heart was beating so hard that she'd thought it was her own heartbeat thundering in her ears. Then she... well, there was no other way to explain it, but she _felt_ a presence suddenly rear up behind her. Something warm and firm and it felt like a mighty heavy blanket was just draped over her shoulders. 

Then arms _did_ encompass her from behind. 

On her right, an arm wrapped in dark green reached over her shoulder and grabbed the man's wrist. Terri heard a CRACK! and the tightness disappeared from her arm. On her left, she saw that same dark green and it wrapped around her front and then she was spinning. 

Suddenly and unexpectedly, Terri found her self spinning to the left, with an arm solid underneath her until she could regain her balance. When she came back to her senses, Terri was amazed to find herself _behind_ another person entirely. She stared at a dark green shirt and wild hair pulled back in a loose braid, the person's left arm held out behind them to shield her. 

In her rescuer's other hand, they held the man's wrist...

... and he was yelling in pain. 

Terri breathed-

-and he was kicked ten feet backwards into a dumpster. The crash, the dull DONG sound he made as his back connected with the metal of the dumpster echoed in Terri's ears, and she knew she'd hear that sound for the rest of her life. 

Terri's rescuer -a woman. It was a woman!- strode forward, her black boots making a menacing sound as she approached the man. "Wait, please," he started to plead as she picked him up one handed by the front of his shirt. Terri was frozen in place, staring and watching as this woman stood larger than life, holding this fully grown man up with just one arm. 

Then she punched him right in his chest. 

DONG!

The man's body collided with the dumpster again and this time it echoed even louder than before. 

_'Is this...'_ Terri stared wide-eyed at the woman.

The mysterious woman picked him up again -he was too winded to even speak- and promptly threw him into the brick wall. Terri yelped when she heard a loud crack and when the man fell to the ground, some bits of brick fell with him. 

The woman turned her head -just barely- to glance at her, then turned back to him. 

Then-

-a dark shadow dropped down between woman and man, silent as the night and dark as death itself. 

Black Bat now stood among them in this dark alley. 

This was.... this was insane! Terri had only ever seen pictures of Black Bat, but even then she couldn't be prepared for the menacing look of that completely dark face, eyes of black instead of white like all the other Bats in town. She was... smaller than Terri expected, but looked utterly _terrifying_. 

Both woman stared at each other for the longest moment, Black Bat to King. _'That's **gotta** be King! It's gotta!'_ Terri was convinced. No one spoke in the alley, most of all the man who was crumpled up on the wall and barely even awake. Black Bat turned her head slightly to glance at him, then at Terri, then back to King. 

With a slow shake of her head, she held her hand up and lowered it towards the ground, palm down. And King... King nodded back. 

It was an entirely silent conversation, if even that, but _something_ had been said right there and Terri couldn't figure it out. All she knew was that in the end, King made a weird hum noise with her throat before turning away. Terri got a good look at King's face as she strode right past her (_'She's so pretty!'_) but could only gape open-mouthed even as King pressed a comforting hand to her shoulder as she passed. Then she left the alleyway entirely without even a backward glance. 

_'Did that... just happen?'_

Terri looked back at Black Bat, who knelt beside the man. She zip-tied his hands together in front of him, then tapped something on a little phone she pulled out from her belt. When finished, she stood back up and turned to Terri. "All safe now," a soft, feminine voice spoke from behind the mask," Police will be here soon."

It's reassuring and at the same time not, because Terri really doesn't want to stick around and wait for them. She just wants to get home and that's still three blocks away. When she voiced this, Black Bat thought all of one second before stating," I walk you home."

And that's how Terri gets the strangest escort back home, but honestly at this point she'd much rather remember this detail and not... not what almost happened before. Terri is young and scared and made a promise to herself right then and there she'll never try to walk home from Breanna's house at night ever again. 

If King hadn't been there...

"You're not.. mad are you?" she asked Black Bat," About what she did? For what she did to that... to that man?"

It was hard to tell with the creepy blacked out mask, but it looked like Black Bat was giving her a _look_. 

But... but this was King! She protected them! She was a woman, fierce and strong and she protected other women, gave them something to look up to. Something to show them that _"Here. Here is a woman, unafraid of men and monsters alike. Here is a woman that shows them that they can be strong too." _

King gave the women of Crime Alley hope. All the women were saying it. With the Red Hood gone, it was nice to know someone else was around to stand up for them. Even if the GCPD was gunning for her arrest, shaking down the streets and asking about anyone with the name King. And the citizens of Crime Alley had one rule when it came to her: make it up. Tell them everything, and then some. 

"She was just trying to protect me, you know?" Terri pleaded with the Black Bat, unknowing if they were after King just the same as the police," She's not a bad guy. She's not." 

If Black Bat shared the police's opinion, it sure didn't look it. Just as much as it had been when King stepped between her and that man, Terri felt a wave of relief when the Black Bat reached out, patted the top of her head, and said," I know."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For EasfitHadia: You're right. Jason needed a hug and who better than our favorite archer?


	26. Bitch, I AM the Calvary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With drastic times, come drastic measures.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shantelle Ellis and her girlfriend have hearts of gold...and crowbars of steel.

**"You have six unheard voicemails."**   
**"Kinley. If you don't call me back, I will send Seamus with all his powerpoints and numbers and shit to Gotham."**

* * *

On the other side of the country, Trent hung up his phone and spent a good long minute just staring at his desk. Three weeks. Three weeks of radio silence and he was starting to worry. No, worry wasn't the right word. He was worried two weeks ago. He was way past 'worried'. 

_Now_ Trent was terrified. 

_'She's fine, she's fine, she's fine,'_ he told himself over and over again,'_ Kinley can take care of herself.'_ For gods sake, he's seen his sister do some incredible things. But this was the first time he hasn't been there to see her through them, to be able to witness her coming through the other side whole and hale. 

It was the not knowing that was killing him. 

Growling a little bit, he picked up his phone again and scrolled through his contacts. He knows Michael told him to delete the number, to forget it and never contact him again. But Trent was just as stubborn as his sister and even if he had deleted it from his phone, this was one number he would never forget. 

_"If I lose her to the Rot and I find out it's your fault, I will never forgive you."_

* * *

**"911, what is your location?"**

"Uhhh, yeah, you might want to send a fire truck down here," the voice said on the other line," And maybe a cop? Someone with some serious bolt cutters or something."

**"What is your location?"**

They rattled off an address just north of the Sprang Bridge. 

**"And what is your emergency? Is anybody injured?"**

"Nah, man," the voice answered gleefully," But they a little stuck!"

**"What do you mean?"**

Somewhere in the background, there was a muffled yelling and a pounding sound, like a dull bang against metal. **"What is that?**" the dispatcher asked, and the caller laughed out loud. 

"That's a couple o' thugs who tried robbing my grandma!" the caller cackled, " The King threw them in a dumpster and sealed it shut with a metal pipe!"

* * *

**"You have seven unheard voicemails."**  
The line was silent before whoever it was hung up with a click.

* * *

"_Bitch_, open this door or I swear I will break it down!" Shantelle hollered and pounded on the wooden door. She didn't care that it was ten at night; she didn't care that she was yelling; she didn't care that their nosy neighbor across the hallway was glaring at her through his cracked open door. It's been three weeks and every time Shantelle's caught a glimpse of her, Kinley's looked worse and worse. 

Hearing an angry yell and the sound of breaking glass coming from her apartment was the last straw. Either she's gotten into some deep shit and got an addiction, or someone's been smacking her around. Frankly, Shantelle hoped it was the latter because she could beat a fucker up but hell if she knows anything about drug rehab. 

"Going once! Going twice!"

BAM! She kicked the door. 

"Kinley!" BAM!

The door flew open. "WHAT!" Kinley screamed in the doorway. Shantelle pushed past her, crowbar brandished high and looking for someone to fuck up. "Shantelle, _what_ are you doing?"

"Looking for the fucker who did _that_," she pointed at the shiner on Kinley's face with the crowbar," And when I do, I'm going to break his leg."

Kinley made a face and sighed," There's no one else here, Shantelle."

"No? Then why are your knuckles all bloody?"

What-oh... Kinley glanced down at her hands and saw them smeared with red. _Maybe_ she should've been wrapping her hands these past few days before going at the heavy bag. 

"And _why_ does it reek of booze in here?"

Umm... well... "I got angry." ...and threw a half full bottle of whiskey into the sink. The glass shards were still in there, which Shantelle clearly saw when she stomped over to the kitchen to grab a towel hanging off the oven door. At her scowl, Kinley quickly clarified," I'm not drunk!" and held up her hands to prove how not shaky they were. 

Shantelle tucked the crowbar under her arm and grabbed Kinley's arm, bringing it forward so she could pat the towel against her knuckles. "Shit, it's like you got in a fight with a brick wall," she muttered, then glanced around the apartment," Did you trash your own apartment?" 

Kinley didn't have to look around to know what she was talking about. Honestly, it looked worse than it actually was. She'd cleaned up the broken glass (most of it) and moved all the broken furniture into a pile in the corner. Hadn't fixed up the drywall though. The kitchen cupboards were still only half finished and one of the doors hung listly off of one hinge. 

"It's been a bad week," she admitted.

Shantelle stepped back and glared at her. "Bad month is more like it," she stated," Tell it to me straight: have you gotten into something you shouldn't have?"

At Kinley's blank look, she elaborated," _Drugs_, Kinley. Have you starting using?"

"_No!_" she looked almost horrified at the mere mention of it," I would never! I've know what that does to people, I've seen..." She trailed off, sounding just so... affronted. She knew what drugs did to people, how it destroyed them from the inside out. If that ever happened to her... She shuddered the thought.

Shantelle sighed and lowered her arms, crowbar hanging listly at her side. . "Kinley..." she looked at her neighbor," Are you okay?"

Kinley practically wilted underneath her stare. "No," she admitted," Not really."

"You're a mess, Kin," she huffed, and wow, way to be gentle with it, Shantelle," Did you get dumped or something?"

"No," Kinley shook her head," Yes? Maybe?" She looked a little lost as she stared down at her knuckles, patting the blood away," Is it possible to be dumped by your best friend?"

"Shit."

"And I just learned that my cousin may have been brutally murdered..."

"Shit..."

"Which I only know because then I got dumped by my other friend, who shoved it in my face and blamed me?"

It went without saying: _shit_. "Okay, let's go." With the hand not holding the crowbar, she grabbed Kinley's shoulder and frog marched her towards the door. 

"What?" she was confused, but walked where Shantelle was pushing her. 

"This calls for drastic measures."

* * *

'Drastic measures' turned out to be Shantelle bringing her home to her girlfriend, Annie. "Ooh, girls' night," was all she said when she saw Shantelle open the door, Kinley in tow. 

Between the two of them (Anne fretting over her and Shantelle physically pushing) they managed to haul Kinley into the bathroom to clean the blood off her hands. ("and face," Anne added shyly, subtly pointing to her cheek. How a bit of red got smeared there, they didn't ask and Kinley didn't know.) She pretended not to hear their voices over the sound of running water, but out in the hallway Shantelle gave Anne a quick rundown. 

Anne herself was small, and cute with the blondest hair ever seen outside of Scandinavia. She also was more perceptive than she seemed. "She's not sick, Ellie," she told Shantelle in a sorrowful voice that made Kinley want to hit something and just _run_," She's heartbroken."

_'Rule Number Five,'_ echoed in Kinley's mind. She _hated_ Rule Number Five. So with a grimace, she turned the water off and opened the door. Anne was the only one waiting for her in the hall, holding up a first aid kit. "Need this at all?" she asked in lieu of an explanation.

Kinley shook her head. "Why are you bothering with this?" she asked quietly. 

To her credit, Anne didn't pretend to not know what she was talking about. "Because you're not fighting with me on this nearly as hard as I expected," she answered. Oh, if only she knew how much self control it was taking Kinley to stop herself from running out that front door. Her eyes got soft and she looked as if she were about to cry, which was ridiculous because Kinley's the one who's a mess. "Which means you need this more than you realize," Anne said as her fingers clenched around the first aid kit tightly. 

Kinley didn't know how to argue that, so she didn't. "Okay," she said instead, sighing and just so so tired. Anne headed back into the living room where Shantelle was stashing her crowbar in the front closet. "Dr. Holte is in," Anne announced and started pulling things out of the cupboards," I am prescribing ice cream, pizza, movies with badass women, and girl talk possibly leading up to the murder of a few men."

The last one made Kinley chuckle; she wondered if Anne would change her tune if she knew of those men was Red Robin himself. "Wait, Dr. Holte?" she blinked. 

"Med student actually, but I'm getting there."

"Annie's going to be a pediatrician," and there was Shantelle, walking into the kitchen," It's either going to make her swear off kids for life, or she'll want _all_ the babies."

There was a heartfelt glow on Anne's face as she sighed dreamily. "I'm going be like Bruce Wayne and adopt 20 kids."

Ah yes, Bruce Wayne and his small army of adopted children, led by Dimitri's doppleganger Richard Grayson. 

"So what movie are we thinking?"

* * *

When Anne 'prescribed' ice cream and pizza, she had kind of forgotten they were fresh out of pizza and ice cream. Upon opening the freezer and realizing this, Shantelle had rolled her eyes good naturedly at her girlfriend and kissed her on the cheek. "Dominos?" she asked and none of them had any objections. 

In lieu of the ice cream, Anne and Shantelle discovered that Kinley could whip up a batch of chocolate chip cookie dough in less than five minutes. (Fifteen actually, but only because she didn't know where everything was in their kitchen) Anne declared half the batch for eating raw and the other half Kinley could bake if she absolutely _had_ to. 

"You know they say you're not supposed to eat it raw?" Kinley pointed out. 

Anne held the spoonful of raw dough possessively," As if that'd stop me." Then just to make a point stuck the entire spoon in her mouth.

It was just this side of ridiculous that it may have even, sorta maybe coaxed a smile out Kinley. When she shook her head and turned back to the cookie sheet to scoop out dough Anne hid a victorious smile.

* * *

"I'm telling you, Captain Marvel is just a female Superman," Shantelle said, munching on a pizza slice with a scowl. 

Anne reached one foot out and lightly kicked her leg," You take that back! They are _nothing_ alike!"

Even Kinley had to argue back just as hard. "Superman can go suck a dick," she scoffed," Their powers are a tiny bit similar, but Carol Danvers is a hundred times better."

"Okay yeah, she is pretty badass."

"Now if we gave Superman's powers to Wonder Woman..."

"Not only would we have the baddest bitch in the universe, but yeah that would be Captain Marvel."

Anne chewed on her pizza thoughtfully. "Didn't Shazam once go by the name Captain Marvel?"

* * *

Kinley took one look at the Kill Bill movie in Shantelle's hand and went pale. She shook her head no.

* * *

Why Batman hasn't sued over the movie Kick-Ass, no one really knew. But boy were they sure glad he hadn't. "This was the greatest cinema invention ever," Shantelle crowed as Big Daddy appeared on the screen the first time," And you have to admit, Hit-Girl is so much cooler than Robin."

"So... she's Batgirl?"

"Shit, _you're right!_"

* * *

"You were fucking friend-dumped by Red Robin?!"

"Why do you gotta say it like that?"

Shantelle grabbed the blanket and all but ripped it off Kinley. "Because you got fucking friend dumped by one of the Bats!" she screeched," I didn't even know you were friends with one of them."

"Not exactly," she argued," I just think he liked to stop by every now and then to bug me about local gossip and steal my coffee mugs." She frowned and looked most annoyed," He's stolen at least four of my cups, the bastard." That one from the first night was one of her favorites too. 

"Turns out he just did it because he was investigating me because he thinks I'm part of an evil cult." If anyone could eat cookies angrily, then Kinley was angry chewing on a cookie right now. 

"Rough," Anne was at least a little sympathetic," And he only thought so because Dimitri told him? Who he only knew because you practically introduced them?"

"Asshole move," Shantelle agreed," Major asshole move."

Kinley angrily shoved another cookie in her mouth. "You should see the text Dimitri sent me," she muttered.

* * *

"I'm gonna kill him."

"No one's killing anyone. Sit down."

"Nope, I'm gonna kill him. Annie, you let me up this minute and let me grab my crowbar."

Anne did not move from where she was sitting on her girlfriend, effectively stopping her from standing up and going after Dimitri Shukis with a crowbar. "I am not bailing your ass out of jail," she said succinctly and settled in further, her superior weight effectively holding Shantelle down," We need that money for rent."

"Then let my ass rot in jail! As long as his ass rots in the harbor! How could he say that Kinley!" Shantelle _was_ looking particularly murderous," He wants to claim she used him like a puppet? I'll make him a puppet alright! Impale his ass on a stake and wave him around like a 19th century puppet show."

Anne grimaced in disgust," Okay, that horrible mental image aside: _we are definitely not doing that."_

"There's a lot of background there you don't understand, Shantelle," Kinley tried to tell her," Dimitri had every right to tell me he never wants to hear from me again. He's not wrong when he said I destroyed him."

"Bullshit! Did you brainwash him?"

"No?"

"Did you ever verbally, physically, emotionally, or financially manipulate him?" 

"Of course not! Well, we did pay for his college tuition... but we made it clear that was a gift and he never needed to pay that back!"

"Then he has no room to talk! He made his own decisions, he ruined his own life, no matter what he says. That's on him, _not you_, and he had no right to tell you that and I. Am. Going. To. Kill. Him!"

* * *

Three hours later with two movies finished and Shantelle snoring away on the couch, Kinley quietly helped Annie pick up the living room. "So you really don't-?" Annie was whispering, gesturing to Kinley and then her own head.

Kinley shrugged," Not a thing."

"And that's... normal for you?"

"Never to this extent," she frowned and picked up the empty pizza box," This year is more... extreme."

"Because of all the stress?" Anne guessed. 

"That's one theory. But I've had stressful years before. To have it last three weeks this time is... new."

"And scary," Annie's voice was quiet as she stared down at the assortment of dishes in the sink," To think what would've happened if I hadn't sent Shantelle over..."

_'No, it's better not to think,'_ Kinley almost said, but held her tongue. She knew she would've come out of it eventually, something eventually would've pulled her out. It always did in the end. This time it was just... a nice way to come back to reality.

"Thank you," she whispered.

Anne didn't even have to ask why, her pretty blue eyes turning to look at her new friend. Her eyes were wet and she looked about to cry. Kinley reached up and dug her fingers into her own collarbone and took a deep breath._ 'Rule Number...,'_ she thought, but didn't think she had a rule that fit this situation,_' Rule Number whatever fits.'_

"You didn't have to help me tonight," she said instead, trying to convey to Anne just how serious she was," But you did. And you have no idea how much... how much it means to me to know that there's still people that are willing to go out of their way to-"

Her words were bowled right out of her by Anne throwing her arms around her. Kinley flinched -violently- but did not push her away. Annie was... soft and warm and she hugged like she was afraid Kinley was going to drift away at the slightest breeze. It felt... nice, Kinley realized, and she tried to remember the last time she was hugged like this. 

Annie held on until she felt Kinley's tense muscles loosen, until she sank into the embrace and just let herself be hugged. A full two minutes passed before Kinley cleared her throat awkwardly. "Are... hugs supposed to last this long?" she asked. 

"First rule of pediatrics: never be the first one to let go of a hug."

"That's... that's a good rule. But I'm not a kid."

"Everyone still needs hugs. Want me to let go now?"

Kinley thought it over a moment and eventually nodded. Anne immediately let go, a worried expression on her face, but when Kinley repeated," Thank you," she smiled and told her:

"Anytime."

* * *

**"You have one unheard voicemail."**   
**"Alright, you asked for it. The Nuclear Option."**

* * *

**"You have two unheard voicemails."**  
Tariq's voice was clear and quiet.** "Mushtag-lek."**


	27. Close Your Eyes and Think of Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What is home?

There was a knocking at the door. 

It was slow, methodical, unhurried. Just three raps against the wooden door, then patient waiting. Whoever was at the door knew she was home and that she'd eventually answer, and they were willing to wait for as long as it took. 

Kinley knew exactly who it was. 

"Noah..." she didn't even pretend to be surprised when she opened the door and saw him standing in the hallway. He was young, no older than her, and looking sharp in his pressed Arkham guard uniform. He must've just gotten off his shift; she specifically remembered him working nights. 

"Morning, Miss Kinley," he nodded in greeting then held up a mobile phone. "Call from your brother," he announced with a wry smile," I'm instructed not to leave until you speak with him."

Her responding smile was just as cynical. "And if I refuse?" she had to ask.

Noah grinned as if he really wanted her to choose that action. "Then he gets on a plane and comes here himself," he told her.

She took the phone. 

"You sent Noah to my apartment," she said in lieu of greeting. 

**"You didn't give me much choice,"** Trent sounded angry,**" Now, if you don't want Noah to witness you getting a verbal whoopass, then I suggest you call me on your fucking phone _right now_."**

Yeah, Trent was pissed. Very noticeable in the way he immediately hung up. Briefly, Kinley wondered if he was at his desk and if he had slammed down his work phone onto the base. Pushing 'end call' on a cell phone just wasn't as satisfying...

Kinley handed Noah's phone back to him and pulled out her own cell. Ignoring the plethora of text messages waiting in her inbox, she pulled up Trent's contact and dialed his cell phone. 

**"You have no idea how goddamn pissed off I am."**

Rather than answer him right away, just to be an ass, Kinley lowered her phone and addressed Noah. "Thank you," she said. Satisfied that his job was done, he directed a quick salute at her and headed out. 

**"Kinley!"** Trent was yelling at her over the phone. 

"I'm here, I'm here," she returned to the call as she closed the door. A sigh escaped her as she leaned against it. "I'm here..."

* * *

Eumelia was young for an Amazon, but old for a human. Unlike the Amazons of Themyscira who had been blessed with immortality for the past 3,000 years, and the Amazons of Bana Mighdall who lived lives the length of ordinary humans, the Amazons of Corsica were... unique. Just like the Themyscirans were blessed by the goddess Artemis, the Corsicans were blessed by a goddess of their own. Though her brand of immortality was a little bit... different.

Still, 73 was nothing to scoff at. They may not have immortality, but a blessing was a blessing...

"Grandma Lia, you have gray in your hair. You must be getting old," her youngest great-granddaughter Bridget pointed out, her little fingers so helpfully playing with one of the braids on Eumelia's head. 

...even if the little ones like to remind their elders of their age every now and again. 

From the other side of the table, Seamus choked on his oatmeal. When Eumelia glanced up she saw that his face was turning a brilliant shade of red that matched his tie perfectly. "Something you wish to say, Seamus?" she asked him. She stared him down across the table with a firm expression, even while bouncing 5 year old Bridget on her lap. 

"N-nothing!" Seamus sputtered out after swallowing his mouthful. To wash it down, or perhaps to avoid saying anything more, he chugged down his glass of water and did not stop until it was empty. 

Bridget, the dear girl, seemed to cotton on to his technique. "Daddy, your face is turning red," she told him in no uncertain terms," Did you have wine? Mama says your face turns red when you drink wine."

_'Oh really?'_ Eumelia barely contained her glee on her face. "Alrighty then!" Seamus quickly stood up and picked up his daughter in his arms," We have _got_ to teach you how to filter your words." He looked so hilariously flummoxed that even Tariq at the end of the table had taken his headset off to watch the proceedings.

"What's filter mean?" Bridget asked. 

"It means you don't have to tell everyone every single thought that pops into your head," he tried to explain. He set her back down in her own chair and tried to distract her with a plate of pancakes. 

It didn't work. "But Auntie Kinley says we should tell family everything," she argued.

"That's not what she- " Seamus threw his hands up in the air," Some things some people just don't need to know."

"But how do you know what they need to know?"

"Michael, you're the lawyer. Some help here?" he looked to his brother for some assistance. 

At the far end of the table next to Tariq, Michael took one last bite of bacon before saying," I'm with Bridget and Kinley on this one. Tell family everything."

"You are no help whatsoever."

Hagan, Eumelia's only son, was grinning from ear to ear while he watched his children bicker back and forth. "You are enjoying this," she pointed out. 

Hagan had his father's smile as he turned to her," And you aren't? I haven't seen them this animated in years. It's hard enough to get them all together in the same city, let alone breakfast."

Eumelia sighed," If only it were for other circumstances."

The reminder of what drew them all to Portland, Oregon was sobering and the smile fell from Hagan's face. "Have we heard from Noah yet?" she asked. 

Her son leaned back in his chair so as to glance down the hallway," Trent's still on his phone. Either he's talking to Noah, or Kinley." 

Just then, seeing the both of them looking at him, Trent glanced up and caught both their gazes. Talking in hushed tones with whoever was on the phone, he quickly returned to the dining room. As soon as he walked in, the rest of the family paused in their conversations and looked up. At the frown on his face, they all assumed the worst. 

"Good news," he started," Noah got a hold of Kinley, so we don't have to go to Gotham and stage an intervention. She's fine, for the most part; just tired."

"And the bad news?" Macie's voice was quiet. 

"The bad news..." now Trent's frown turned accusatory as he looked at his grandmother, Eumelia," When were you going to tell us about Jonathon?"

* * *

**Belgium, 1918**

"How do you do it?" Steve couldn't help but ask, his face one of complete confusion and wonder," How do you..." he chewed on his tongue for a moment, trying to think of how to word it," ...not go insane?"

"Steve!" Diana whispered at him harshly. She gave him a look that clearly told him that was not an okay thing to ask; in response he gave her a look that she had no room to talk Miss 'Would you say you are a standard example of your gender?'.

Alessia Battaglia, shot back a gulp of pinard and tried not to grimace. Whether the face she made was at the taste of the wine, or the question directed at her, Diana did not know. "Easy..." Alessia spoke softly. Her hazel eyes seemed burned bright in the light of their meager fire, glancing up at the rest of the men. Sameer must have been telling an equally compelling tale, his arms gesturing widely and with flair, while the others laughed and called out the parts they thought were horseshit. 

They were the best part of humanity.

"Close your eyes...and think of home."

* * *

**Tibet, 1920**

The cave wasn't dark. Getting there had been dark, scrambling down hidden paths, feeling along the walls and stumbling in the sand. But when the tunnel let out into a massive chamber, Alessia emerged into an underground cavern filled with water and light. Torchlight lit the entire chamber, fire's warm light bouncing off the walls and reflecting off the water's surface. 

No one was there waiting for her. Not that she expected any; Alessia had told approximately one person of her plan and they would not stop her.

She sat down at the water's edge and waited. And when the time came, she closed her eyes and thought of home.

.......................

**Paris, 1920**

The alcohol burned all the way down her throat but it did nothing to soothe the ache she felt in her heart. "Another please," she lifted her empty glass and waited for it to be refilled. 

"To the last one standing," Diana murmured and lifted the glass in the air before tipping it back. No one was there to clink glasses with her. The words from the telegram she received last week still echoed in her mind._ "Spirit destroyed. End of line."_

With a sigh, she stood up and dug into her unnecessarily large coat and its pockets. Why these people insisted on such confining clothing, she'll probably never understand. But Etta had been adamant she not wear her armour all the time and Diana really couldn't say no to one of her only friends left. 

She left the money on the cafe counter and exited with little to no fanfare. It was time to go home. There was nothing left in France for her. 


	28. Goddamn Idiots, All of Them

**How can I say this without breaking?**   
**How can I say this without taking over?**   
**How can I put it down into words?**

"No vocals, please," she whispered and the music paused. A moment later, something by Really Slow Motion played. 

The book was staring at her. There was a challenge on its leather bound cover, its daring etched into the silver embossing on it spine. Never before had a book seemed so terrifying than this one right now. 

_("I think it's time you read it,"_ Grandmother told her, for once sounding her age,_" It's time you stop running away from it and accept who you are."_

_"I'm not running away,"_ Kinley argued, perhaps a bit too quickly.

"_Kinitsa,"_ Eumelia Battaglia never sounded sad but at this moment she came pretty damn close,"_ You've been running longer than you realize. I saw it in Alessia and I see it in you. But I also see Thalassa in you; you have her fighting spirit."_)

Kinley wanted to blame Thalassa for all of it. Wanted to blame Alessia even more. The two Battaglia women that eluded understanding more than any other. Two women who in theory were as different from each other as could be, broken in such different ways but at the end of the day... Kinley supposed they were still so much more alike than they were different. 

She still wanted to blame them though. Even if she couldn't.

The book was warm -always was- and the leather supple. It wasn't a particularly large journal, but it still felt heavy in her hands as she lifted it up. This was the first time she had touched it since first unpacking her stuff. She wished she could put this off longer, but Grandmother was right. 

_'I'm not ready for this,'_ she lamented but held onto the journal regardless. "Rule number two," she had to remind herself, a bit of a pep talk even if it did nothing to ease her nerves. Before she lost her motivation, she took it out to the balcony and plopped down on the little bench she set out there (A pretty blue with white cushions; one of her favorite creations). 

A childish part of her wondered how far the journal would fly if she just pitched it over the railing. Another part had her looking wistfully at her plants and wishing she was working on them instead of bracing herself to read one book. The sensible part of herself said,_' Stop whining. Woman up.'_

Bzzt. Bzzt.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket, a quick buzzing against her stomach where it sat in her sweatshirt. She was very much tempted to answer it, but held fast. No distractions, she _would_ read this thing tonight, come hell or high water. So with a reluctance, she calmly tucked her phone in between the cushions and settled in. 

Gingerly, she cracked the cover open to the first page. 

_"My name is Thalassa, daughter of Battaglia, daughter of Acies, and the year is 1376..."_

* * *

One again, no reply.

"Still nothing?" Roy asked quietly. Jason liked to think he was quiet because they were supposed to be on stakeout, but honestly when has that ever stopped him. No, he was quiet because last time he made a comment about the silence of Jason's phone, it got thrown across the room. 

The picture of Berlin's skyline, silhouetted by a spectacularly orange sunset, was saved in Jason's phone and his messages app. Underneath read the text,_" Last text, I promise. Thanks for the past few months."_ He'd sent it a few hours ago, and by now the sky was dark.

His phone hadn't made a sound since then. 

It was stupid, he knew. "Just thought I'd try one last time," he muttered. It was habit; it was some sense of normalcy he'd found in his chaotic life these past few months; it was _stupid_. He'd gotten used to the exchange of random pictures and jokes and inane questions about Gotham gossip. And if he purposefully didn't think about the few times late at night he'd sent the desperate text of,_" What do I do to stop myself from doing something stupid?"_ then that was his own business.

(Especially the times she'd _immediately_ tell him to go get an ice cube and hold it in his hand until it melted. Then get another. Then send a recipe for some new food she wanted to try and ask him what he'd do to improve it.)

He'd gotten used to the exchange with a random voice in the abyss. He would miss it. 

Roy glanced over at him. "Want to talk about it?" he asked. Not sure why he asked; he just got the same answer he always got this month. 

"No."

* * *

The time was 0730 and Jason was woken up from a dead sleep. At first he didn't know what woke him; it was four hours past his bedtime, he deserved a little slack. With a groan and eyes still closed, he fumbled around in the blankets. His chest was... uncomfortably sore, like there was a deep pressure expanding inside and trying to fill the space in his ribs. But his heart and lungs were already there._ 'No more room,'_ he thought moronically at whatever the feeling was. He figured it was his scar acting up again. 

Bzzt. Bzzt. 

Oh, that was his phone. His hand reached out for it, rubbing his chest with the other one, and a massive yawn escaping him. 

Bzzt. Bzzt.

He was having no luck finding it blind, so one tired eye popped open. Ah, _there_ it was! Hiding behind the half empty glass of Vitamin Water he'd chugged before passing out. With a grumble he dragged it over to his face. 

**Incoming call: PTERODACTYL**

Better than a blast of cold water. Jason woke up faster than he could ever remember, sitting up and staring dumbly at his phone. She was... calling him? But she never called him. _They don't call each other._ It's not- it wasn't- it didn't follow the not-rules they've subconsciously established. 

But... she was calling him. After almost a month of silence. 

What could he do but answer? "Hello?" his voice was raspy, more breathy than he intended. He decided to blame it on his sleepy state. 

At first, there was only silence on the other end. Then a sniffle and a deep breath and his chest _throbbed_. "I'm sorry," the quietest whisper echoed in his ear. 

"What?" forgive him for only being able to say that one word, no more than a shocked whisper of disbelief. 

There was a small cough- she cleared her throat, then in a slightly louder tone, she repeated," I'm sorry. I know it can't change anything or make you forgive me, but I figured you at least deserved to _hear_ an apology and not some stupid text."

Jason was left blinking dumbly, rubbing his eyes and wondering if he was still asleep. Three and a half weeks. Three and a half weeks of silence and she calls for the first time and the first words she says is," I'm sorry"? There's no way he wasn't dreaming. 

"Are you still there?" she asked," or did you hang up?"

"I'm here," he blurted out, quicker than he intended but he was afraid she might hang up. This was... unbelievable as this was, he was not sorry she called. "Why... why are you sorry?" he asked. 

"So many reasons," she huffed then made a frustrated humming sound," But to you, I"m sorry that I've been a jerk and just... ghosting you without an explanation was such a jerk thing to so."

He wondered briefly who else she had to apologize to; who else she was planning to call this night with her sorries and "I was a jerk"._ 'Don't go down that road,'_ he reminded himself and instead asked," So what _is_ your excuse?"

There was a slight pause on her end that extended past what was comfortable. Jason swung his legs over the side of the bed and felt the cold floor against his feet. It helped wake him up. "Are you seriously trying to think of an excuse?" he snapped when she still didn't answer. 

"No," came her hasty reply," I'm not thinking of a -you seriously think I'd just _make_ one up?"

Jason stood up and stepped into a pair of sweatpants. "I think you're not answering the question because you _don't_ have a good explanation for blowing me off for three weeks."

"I'm _trying_ to think of a good way to word it so you'd understand," she snapped back at him," It's been a messed up month and it's kinda hard to explain."

Oh, so that how she wanted to do this? "I'm not an idiot," he growled," Just tell me the facts and don't try to dumb it down for me. Even if it's some stupid ass story about how your phone fell in the sink and then a cat ran away with it, I'll be able to follow along."

"Okay, we're gonna come back to the sink and the cat thing later because that is oddly specific and makes me think that's actually happened. But I can't just 'tell you the facts' because it's not that simple," she argued. 

"I don't care if it's simple, just tell me why you blew me off," Jason argued right back," If you were busy, why not just send a quick text with 'Oh hey, not dead! Just busy'? But you didn't even do that." Holding the phone to his ear, he made his way to the kitchen. Great, now he was up with less than 3 hours of sleep and starving, all on top of fighting with Pterodactyl.

"It's not that sim-"

"I swear to God if you say 'it's not that simple' one more time, I will throw this phone," he vehemently vowed just as he shouldered his way into the kitchen," Do you realize-"

Roy met his gaze, surprised and bashful with his mouth full of Cocoa Puffs. Jason silently groaned and debated just turning around and going back to bed. But then Roy was jumping off the counter and waving at his phone while mouthing," Pterodactyl?"

Jason didn't even have to nod, knowing Roy knew. 

"Do I realize _what_?" she snapped over the phone and he was reminded that he hadn't finished his sentence. He glanced at Roy with narrowed eyes -nope, he did not want an audience- and spun on his toes and walked away. Roy, the bastard, followed him. 

"Do you realize all those texts over the past months, I can tell that you didn't even _look_ at them?" he continued, both arguing and walking in the hopes that Roy would stop trailing after him," They're all still marked as 'delivered' and not 'read'."

Nope, now Roy was right there, hovering at his shoulder. Jason tried to shove him away but no dice. "Just how _busy_ were you that you couldn't even be bothered to glance at your messages?!"

"How the fuck did we get to this point?!" she shouted. 

"Because you're avoiding the question!" he shouted back, holding Roy back with one hand and glaring at his own phone in the other," Just like you avoided me for-"

"I WASN'T IN MY RIGHT MIND!"

Both of them froze at her resulting scream, loud enough for even Roy to hear. "I don't even remember this month! That doesn't happen to me, and yet it did and I woke up and-" her voice hitched at that moment, both boys' faces falling into matching expressions of horror.

"_There_, is that what you wanted to hear, you jackass?!" she spat out," You wanted simple facts, so here they fucking are. August is a bad month for me as is, but if I'm lucky I only lose a day or two. This time I lost _weeks_. Weeks of my life that I have no idea what happened. And on top of that, one of my _only_ friends tells me out of nowhere that he hates me and to never contact him again. Then I get in a fight with someone who I _thought_ was a friend only for him to hate me too and by gods if he hasn't come back since he practically said it."

Her voice started cracking and Roy punched Jason's arm. Hard. 

"And I called _you_, you motherfucking son of a bitch, as soon as I could read your texts because I was hoping to salvage at least _one_ friendship. Just one. But here we are with you hating me and I don't blame you and-"

"Okay, time out!" Roy shouted. He punched Jason's arm again while simultaneously taking the phone from his limp fingers. "You, go sit down and think about what you've done!" he pushed him for good measure. 

"And you," he pressed the phone to his ear," take five slow breaths, then hold for five seconds."

"I know the breathing techniques!" she replied sourly.

Roy was having none of either of their attitudes. "Then _do_ them. I can hear you hyperventilating." He directed what Kori once called his 'Full Arsenal Look' at Jason, who still stood frozen where he'd pushed him," I thought I told you to sit down. I get you're upset, but you didn't have to make her cry."

That might've been too harsh, judging by the crestfallen look on Jay's face, but honestly Roy was doing it for his own good. Pterodactyl was one of Jason's purest friendships and damned if Roy was going to stand by and let these two idiots set it on fire. 

As Jason shuffled to plop heavily on the nearest flat surface (a wooden crate), Roy listened to make sure Pterodactyl was doing what he told her to do. He was pleased to hear her take a deep breath, hold it for five seconds, then out for seven. "He didn't make me cry," she said in between breaths. 

Judging Jason settled in- if a bit shellshocked- Roy turned and walked from the room. "I can _hear_ you," he argued, but then she had to go and say," I was crying before I even called him."

"Fuck." That made it even worse. 

"I just..." yep, that was definitely a sniffle," I'm trying to get everything back in order. I'm sorry, I probably should've waited til morning to call. I'm - gods..." She was ranting now and Roy let her; Jay's friend or not, Pterodactyl needed someone to just _listen_. He could do that. "I'm a mess," she groaned," I am in _no_ condition to be on the phone. Could you, could you tell him I'm sorry for yelling? I overreacted and shouldn't have-"

"Aaaaaand I'm gonna stop you right there," he cut her off again. Roy sat back up on the counter next to his abandoned bowl of cereal. "You did not overreact," he reassured her," He was being an ass and sometimes someone needs to yell right back at him." He was careful not to use Jason's name, knowing of their deal even if he didn't agree with it. 

"Now, just start from the beginning," he hummed and picked up his bowl again," What made you lose your memory?"

To his credit, she didn't immediately tell him,' Fuck no.' But she did say," I can- I can just go. You really don't need to-"

"Wrong answer. Try again."

"I don't even _know_ you."

Ah, but he's sure Jason's at least told her of him. "You technically don't know _him_, either. And sure you know me," he said cheerfully," I'm Mr. Surly's best friend, the one who helped him take that dino picture way back when."

"...Smiley?"

Roy laughed," Really?!"

"You're always smiling and goofing off, so that's what I've been calling you in my head," she defended. 

Roy smiled so hard his cheeks hurt. "I love it," he crowed," Now, what do you call _him_?"

"..."

"Ah, come on. I'll tell you what our nickname for you is if you tell me."

"If it's anything derogatory, I will punch you in the teeth through this phone."

"Scout's honor. Now tell me please?"

"...Dorito Chip."

Roy _howled_.

* * *

It was an hour - maybe two he really couldn't tell- before Roy came back out of the kitchen. He looked up immediately, both terrified and eager to find out how the conversation had gone. Roy's face was carefully blank and somehow that was so much worse. Jason noticed he was no longer on the phone.

He must've shown some of his... nervousness? Fear? Absolute crushing _guilt_? on his face, because his friend flashed him a reassuring smile.

He didn't believe any of it. 

He was a grade A jerk and he knew it, and if he hadn't run her off before then today he surely had. She _had_ to hate him now, why wouldn't she? And he hadn't even noticed her crying, too focused on his own anger. 

Roy plopped down next to him on the crate. "Whatever you're thinking, you're wrong."

"I'm an asshole."

"...Well okay, not all of it wrong." Roy shrugged. "But if it helps, she's not holding it against you."

It didn't help. It really didn't. "That makes it worse!" Jason groaned. The heel of his palm dug into his chest, but it really didn't help with the soreness there. "I thought I was over this, this-this snapping at everyone, hurting everyone around me and for what?" he glared at Roy, looking-searching-_hoping_ for answers," Because I got a little annoyed?"

"Because you care about her. Maybe even love her."

Jason's jaw snapped shut, not expecting... well not expecting _that_! 

Roy sighed. "I can't tell you how you feel. But I know you, Jason," he said," I _know_ you. You're scared of love; of being loved, of loving someone, and when it happens, you get scared. And when you get scared, you get mean and you say things you don't really mean and you push everyone away."

He opened his mouth to argue, but Roy wouldn't let him. "I've been your friend for five years, Jaybird. You did the same thing with me," he smiled almost nostalgically," Man you tried _so hard_ to chase me away. But I'm still here and I think I'd know your tells by now." Jason grumbled at that; he did _not_ have tells. 

But how could he argue with Roy? 

"But..." the redhead hummed," Maybe take it easy on Pterodactyl next time? I don't want you pushing her away like you tried me."

Right.

_'Right,'_ Jason breathed deep,_' Next time.'_ Next time meant a next phone call or text. Next time meant she wasn't cutting ties entirely with him. Next time he'd be the one apologizing. "So she," still he asked," doesn't hate me?"

Roy smiled. "No, not really."

_'Not really?'_ Jason scoffed. That was reassuring. But he guess he deserved just as much. "And she's... okay?"

This time the reply he got was a half hearted shrug. "Physically, yeah. Mentally and emotionally? That's tougher to say."

What? Oh shit oh shit oh- 

A bit of his thoughts must've shown on his face, because next thing he knew Jason found Roy's fingers tugging at his hair. "Not from you, you self-flagellating doofus," he remarked. 

Jason batted his hand away with a scowl. Roy let him, taking back his hand with a playful smile. But then his face got serious and he leaned back on the crate. "But seriously, maybe it's time you two come clean with each other and tell her your name," he suggested, staring up at the ceiling of their dingy hideout," You've got a real friendship here, Jaybird. Are you sure you want to keep it anonymous?"

Jason followed his lead, laying back on the crate and staring up into nothing as they talked. Did he want to tell Pterodactyl his name? Yes. Did he want to know her name? _God yes._ But should he? _Hell no._

So instead he asked," Did you?"

"Did I what?"

"Tell her your name?"

"No," his answer was immediate and sure and Jason couldn't tell if that was better or worse," That's going to be your choice when the time comes."

"Oh." He wondered if the 'when' was on purpose. (It probably was)

"I did find out she has a nickname for us though. Just like how we call her Pterodactyl."

"Let me guess: The Sap from the Train Station and His Idiot Friend?"

"Hey!" a hand snaked out and whumped him on the stomach," That's Idiot _Best_ Friend. And no, believe it or not, other people have better taste in nicknames Mr. I'm-going-to-set-all-my-phone-contacts-as-vague-descriptions."

"It's efficient," he grumbled, but Roy largely ignored him.

"She really doesn't hate me?"

"No, she doesn't hate you."

"And..." he was almost afraid to ask," and the reason why she can't remember the last month?"

Roy's eyes slid over to him, but there was no pity there. For neither him or Pterodactyl. "Not drugs," he confirmed and it felt like a weight lifted off Jason's chest," Nor alcohol, though she _has_ been drinking tonight."

That was... that was good. Jason had been- well, _worried_ wasn't the right word, but he had felt his heart drop into his stomach when she said she wasn't in her right mind. It sounded too much like... well like the effects of certain drugs he knew of. Too much like the terrible addictions he knows run rampant through Crime Alley.

And for a while, he racked through his brain, searching for any possible clues or hints to her being a user. But he knew the signs, he knew the behavior, and knew that despite being in close proximity to it all, she wasn't one. So if it wasn't drugs, then what? "Please tell me she didn't get caught up with one of the Rogues," he pleaded. 

"No Rogues," Roy assured. 

"Head trauma?"

"Nope."

"C'mon Roy, did you at least find out _why_?"

"Yeah, actually," the archer stretched out and put his hands behind his head," Same as you: PTSD."

Jason was struck dumb.

"At least that's the working theory," Roy rambled on," There's a small chance it's a mental illness but they've pretty much ruled out all known ones."

But still... "PTSD?" Jason breathed, both shell shocked and confused. But how... Pterodactyl seemed so... put together. So calm and all knowing, always with the right words to say, a proverbial rock sticking out of a stormy sea. 

Roy glanced over at his friend," How much do you know about Pterodactyl?"

Jason opened her mouth to answer, but fell silent before the words could leave his mouth. He knew Pterodactyl. He _knew_ her. He knew she loved to create things, whether it be plants she grew or things she could build out of scrap wood. He knew she liked to bake but absolutely could not bake cookies (other than chocolate chip) to save her life. He knew she enjoyed good food and often sought out good restaurants. He knew she loved books and movies and was almost always making a reference at the risk of sounding like a fortune cookie. 

Jason Todd knew Pterodactyl, but he knew nothing about her. 

Roy shrugged; he figured. "I think she was a soldier. Maybe even a child soldier," he told him," For as long as she's been walking, she's never been anywhere longer than a year or two at most. Ptero wouldn't tell me _why_ but it sounds like it was something that had to be done. Long story short, she can make friends left and right, but none of those friendships last once she leaves. All she leaves with is more mental trauma than when she started."

"Except you," he nudged Jason," You and that Dimitri. You know, Dick's twin?"

Oh no... he could see where this was going. 

"So yeah, guess who told her to fuck off?" Roy said with a sigh," Man, what a shitty move. And on the anniversary of the incident too."

"Incident?"

"Oh shit, she didn't tell you about that?"

Jason sat up and hauled Roy up as well. "No. _Roy_..." he looked him deep in the eyes, refusing to let go of Roy's shirt until he answered," What. Incident?"

"Umm... the one where they became friends in the first place? Where she uh, well, where they were buried under a collapsed building for two days."

"What?!"


	29. On the Day of Falling Buildings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five years ago, Dimitri and Kinley became tentative friends because they were trapped in a collapsed building for two days. What few people know is what caused that catastrophe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A nice mix of the Incident of 2015 and Dimitri facing his own demons in the present day. But Dimitri is stubborn and he refuses to face a past he doesn't want to remember.

**July 30th, 2015**   
**NYC**

Someone was screaming. Scratch that, lots of people were screaming. (Odd that all these years later, he remembered the screams. At the time, all he could hear was his own blood rushing through his ears.) But that's what he remembered, all the people running past them, fleeing the influx of collapsing buildings and the fires. Oh wow, he almost forgot the fires. 

Everyone running away. Everyone except for _them_.

"All civilians out?" Michael Battaglia, the epitome of cool apathy, stood without even a twitch despite the chaos that reigned around them. Dimitri gawked at him; how could he be so nonchalant about this? Buildings were falling, fire was everywhere, and here they stood like it was another lazy afternoon!

With one hand held strong on Dimitri's shoulder, Trenton replied," Yes. The teaching halls are empty til August. There are fires in the dorms and the library, but they're being evacuated."

Evacuated meaning everyone running for their goddamn lives. 

Michael nodded in agreement," We got lucky this time. Minimal damage." He gestured with his head to the last building standing, the old English and Lit Hall, where Dimitri had Media Communications 102 every Tuesday and Thursday. "Is the building clear?"

"Yes."

"No, it's not!" Dimitri exploded on the both of them, throwing Trent's hand off his shoulder," Kinley's still in there! I saw her run in there! _You_ saw her run in there!" He shouted at them, almost pleaded, begging,_' Why? Why are you just standing there?!'_ But they still just stood there, neither looking too concerned about what was going on. 

Almost like they fully expected this. 

Trent, the bastard, had the gall to smile reassuringly at him. "She'll be fine, D," he said.

Dimitri wanted to punch him in his stupid handsome face. "Look around you!" he gestured to- well, all of it," Does any of this look _fine_ to you? Our school is on fire, Trent, and your sister is right in the middle of it!"

They both just stared at him, Michael especially. Finally with some sort of emotion, even if it was only pity, he quietly asked," He doesn't know, does he?" Trent was not as quiet, looking frustrated as he physically pulled Dimitri back into the safety of their small circle. 

"Not yet," he answered. He then grasped Dimitri by both shoulders and looked him deep in the eyes. "D," he pleaded," Dimitri, babe, look at me." He called until his boyfriend stopped trying to pull away long enough to face him," It'll be okay. Kinley's got this. I know this looks scary, but you gotta trust me. It'll be okay."

Dimitri didn't stop trying to pry his hands off, but Trent had always been the stronger of the two. "She's your _sister_," he cried," How can you just let her _die_?"

Because that's what they were doing. They were just standing here, talking about nothing, while Kinley ran into a burning building. He doesn't even know why she did it! There was nothing left inside worth risking her life for. And when Dimitri tried to stop her, Trent and Michael stopped him. They let her run in there, cleared her a path even, and stood back to watch it go up in flames. 

"We cannot interfere," Michael said. 

"Fuck. That." And then Dimitri kicked his boyfriend right between the legs, throwing his whole weight into it. Stronger or not, Trent went down like a bag of bricks, his hands slipping away from Dimitri's shoulders as he doubled over in pain. Once he felt the hands fall from him, Dimitri broke away and started running. 

Behind him, he could hear them calling out his name, but he did not stop. Even when he stumbled over his own foot, dodging fallen rocks, he did not stop. Dimitri ran straight to the English Lit Hall, ignoring the shouts behind him. He ignored all the fires, all the chaos, and heard only the sound of his own running footsteps. 

And in the back of his mind, he thought of the words he had only just this morning decided on for his term paper._ 'If someone can help, if someone can save, and they do nothing: does that not make **them** the monster?'_

* * *

**August 5th, 2020**

"Is this going to become a habit?" he glared at the vigilante sitting on his couch," Another fluff piece you need written? Sorry but I don't write articles anymore; go see Vale or something."

"Wow, you are grumpy tonight," Red Robin drawled and got up to his feet. 

"It's been a long day," Dimitri honestly didn't even know why he bothered to answer, but he did and there it was," and tired and I just want to get off my foot. What do you want?"

Red Robin flashed a smile behind that mask, the whited-out eyes looking a little creepy with that smile on his face. "I'll be quick then," he said," I just came to ask you something."

Dimitri sighed," And you couldn't send a text like a normal person?"

"I'm a vigilante." Normal is relative. 

"And I'm fucking tired," he snapped back," So tell me quick and get out."

_'Temper, temper,'_ Tim wanted to say, but decided against it. Whether or not he was successful, he had the feeling Dimitri might actually _try_ to bite his head off if he aggravated him even more. 

He wondered what happened to put him in a foul mood... and how he'd react to this next bit. 

"I came to ask you about the Balchunas," he asked. 

Dimitri's brows rose up nearly to his hairline. "_What?_" he breathed. 

"The Balchunas," Tim reiterated," I uhhh, I noticed something odd with the adoption papers and-"

"You looked at my adoption papers?!" Dimitri very nearly shouted at him, his face a mix of horrified and disgusted. It was such a visceral reaction, completely unexpected to Tim, who could only blink in surprise. 

"Well yeah," he breathed," It was with- I mean, they kinda popped up in the background check..." He trailed off upon seeing the dark dark glare coming from the other man. Tim threw back a look of his own, his eyes narrowing in challenge. "You really thought I wouldn't run a background check before letting you interview me for the Gazette?"

"I didn't think you'd dig into my adoption," Dimitri grumbled, one hand pinching the bridge of his nose and obviously trying not to throw his duffel bag across the room at Red," Those records were _supposed_ to be sealed by-" At some unknown realization, he blinked rapidly before firing off an emphatic," Гавно (gav-no)!"

Tim couldn't help the huff of air that escaped him in the form of a scoff very similar to Damian's. Dimitri really thought something as sealed records would stop them? "Well I saw them, and I noticed something odd with the dates-" 

"And let me guess, you figured out they weren't really my aunt and uncle?"

"Wait, what?" Tim reeled back," You _knew_?!"

Now it was Dimitri's turn to scoff," Of course I knew. My real aunt and uncle died when I was five. The Balchunas were just some assholes who needed an heir from a 'suitable line'." With the way he said that last part, Tim half expected him to do quotation marks with his fingers. 

But even still, Tim could not wrap his mind around it. "But you _knew_," he repeated with a frown," If you knew the adoption was fake, then why not _tell_ anyone? You were..." Tim had to shake his head in disbelief," You were taken halfway across the world and you didn't fight it?"

Dimitri stared at him silently. 

"Why?" Tim had to ask. 

With a heavy sigh, Dimitri hefted his dufflebag further up his shoulder and leaned against the doorjamb to his darkroom. "I had no where else to go," he admitted," Whatever family I had left didn't want me, and until I met Trent and Kinley I didn't see any point in fighting it."

Tim blinked. "Trent and Kinley?" he echoed. Kinley he knew, but who was Trent?

Dimitri glared at him, as if him saying those names was some grave offense. "And then I regretted that too, so I came back here," he said harshly. "Now if you don't mind, I have some film I need to develop tonight before it gets too late." The dismissal was as clear as ever. 

Tim almost wanted to argue, to keep pressing this line of questioning. What else about the Balchunas? Why did they need an heir, and why go all the way to Gotham to get one? And what was that about whatever family he had left didn't want him? What other family? Was it Trent and Kinley? 

_'Is Dimitri distantly related to the Battaglias?'_ he wondered. But the way Dimitri was glaring at him, and the non-subtle way he opened the door to his dark room -more than ready to step inside- was a clear sign he was done talking tonight. "Fine," Tim held up his hands in resignation and made his way back out the living room window.

He paused on the windowsill, just on that edge of inside or outside, quiet apartment or noisy city, and turned back. Dimitri was still staring at him, having not turned away and disappeared into his dark room yet. Tim caught a glimpse of his pensive face before it was immediately replaced with the usual grumpy expression. 

_'An act?'_ his brows climbed up, unseen behind his cowl. 

"What else?" Dimitri asked, for all intents and purposes sounding like he wanted nothing more than for Red Robin to leave. The fingers of his right hand fiddled with the seam of his jeans, scraping his nail against the denim as he glared at the other man. His other hand clenched the strap of his duffel bag, looking very much like he wanted to strangle him with it. 

_'He's very good at pretending to be grumpy,'_ Tim thought. It was... unsettling. Had it not been for that split second of seeing that... that almost soft look on Dimitri's face, he might have completely convinced this was just a tired, angry photographer. 

And here he thought he was good at reading people._ 'I wonder what Cass would think of him?'_

But that would have to be a thought for another time. "Why do you hate Kinley so much?" he asked.

There! Right there. Had he not been looking for it, he might've missed it. The pinching at the corners of his eyes, the slight downward twitch of his lips, and then all too soon it was gone. _That_ was a grimace; whether of pain or sadness, Tim couldn't tell. 

"Because she ruined my life," Dimitri snarled and slammed the darkroom door behind him. 

Red Robin was left in the silent apartment, still straddling the windowsill between out or in. But now he had something to think about: had Dimitri meant it? Did he really hate Kinley that much? And if so, how had she ruined his life?

If not... then why was he trying so hard to make everyone believe he hated her so much?

* * *

The room was dark and quiet and a perfect balm to his soul. There were no questions in here, no voices to hear, no memories to be had. Just pure, blissful silence. 

It was supposed to be peaceful, this everlasting silence. Finally some peace after not knowing it his entire life; his phone silent and the only person to harass him a figure in the night that rarely stopped by. 

It was supposed to be peaceful. 

So when he heard his phone ping, and saw a text from Trenton Battaglia (speak of the devil) he almost started crying. 

_"Does that include me?"_

He couldn't bring himself to reply either. 

There were memories to be had. No questions, no voices, just pure simple truth and memories better left forgotten.

* * *

**July 30th, 2015**   
**NYC**

It was a hurricane. No, a tornado. A tower of fire, spiraling up up up until all he saw was flame, smoke and- blue light? But above all else, he saw Kinley. Stubborn and fierce, hovering over him as if she could shield him with her very body. All he remembered was that little frown on her face, her eyes closed, and her saying," I'm sorry," over and over. Then those eyes opened and they were _blue_ and her voice said," Trust me."

It wasn't her voice; he knew that then and he knew it now. But then she shook her head and her eyes turned brown once more. Before he could ask why, she raised a fist high above her head, above his head. "Trust me," she said again. Then her arm swung down. 

And the ground disappeared beneath him and bright blue light flooded his eyes.

* * *

**July 31st, 2015**   
**NYC**

"I'm sorry," she said for the umpteenth time (no seriously, he tried keeping count but after 53, he just gave up) and tried to adjust her leg into a more comfortable position. A small pained whimper escaped her throat, but if she was trying to pretend it didn't happen then so was he. 

Besides... "You really gotta stop saying sorry," he mumbled from his side of the cave (it wasn't really a cave, but he had no other word for the small pocket of space they'd found underneath all this rubble). His own leg was hurting too, right beneath the knee but by now he was used to it and did his best to ignore the phantom pain. 

Kinley might have shot him a sour look from across the cave (yeah, he's sticking with calling it a cave) but it was difficult to see in the dim light. Rescuers had thrown down some glow sticks in the small opening they'd made, but the bright yellow little things could only do so much. Dimitri closed his eyes; tried to block out the sight of all the small shadows in the nooks a crannies, the reminder that they were being covered by only a slim balancing act of walls and pipes. A thick metal pipe hung over their heads and he waited for it to creak and give out and tumble down on their heads. They sat on a pile of bricks and dust and he didn't want to know how deep into the basement they fell. 

It was quiet down here. Quiet and dark and the yellow glow sticks made him feel sick so he closed his eyes. He felt sick. He felt sick and empty and he couldn't remember the last time he felt happy. 

There was some shuffling sound, Kinley's accelerated breathing, and then he felt an arm settle around his shoulders. 

Dimitri didn't open his eyes, but he knew that was Kinley sitting at his side, pulling him gently so that he could lean against her and she could shield him with her arms. She tried to pretend her leg wasn't hurting, and instead tried to make a humming sound to comfort him. In the back of his mind, he could distantly picture her doing this often. Shielding people, offering them a silent comfort. 

It was more than just an imagining. 

"Was that all real?" he asked quietly," Not just the... not just today but... everything before? Did all that really happen? Are you really...?"

A long moment passed before she answered," Yes."


	30. I Spy With My Little Eye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Are you a meta?"  
"No."  
"I am."

**September 1st, 2020**   
**Gotham City**

_"Why is my nickname Dorito Chip?"_

_"There are so many ways I can answer that and I refuse to say any of them."_

_"Wait no I'm actually confused. What about me makes you think of a flavored tortilla chip?"_

At that point, she sent a gif of Jim Halpert going_ "No comment."_

Things got better. Sorta. Alright, things got easier to manage, if not better. It was the same line of thinking where you're drowning out in the middle of the ocean in the middle of a storm. It didn't get better in the way that you're out of the ocean, or the storm's ended, but at least now you know how to fucking swim.

"You have weird monologues," Michael hummed, his disturbed expression coming across as amused over the laptop screen. Kinley glanced at it; she didn't remember answering a skype call. 

"You should hear my inner rants," she quipped," Why are you on my screen?"

He shrugged," Seamus paged me through." While his terminology was atrocious, she understood the meaning behind it; damn Seamus and his Big Brother tendencies. There was a reason her laptop remained in its bag this past month. "I wanted to get your approval for something, but now I see we need to take care of something else first. What do you need?"

"What do you mean?"

"You had a bad month, so I'm guessing you're getting back in the swing of things," he explained," What do you need to make it easier?" He was so blasé yet so earnest about it, about offering his help, his assistance, and his support that Kinley had to remind herself not to second-guess his sincerity. There was always that little thought of,_' What does he want in return?'_ but that was just how Michael was. Complete trust and loyalty, with no nonsensical things like emotions. He saw a cause he agreed with and he liked to jump into the thick of things with no hesitation. Other than Trent, he was the only other sibling to 100% back Kinley in her lofty goal. (Though she thinks Michael did it for the loyalty rather than the ideal. She had the sneaking suspicion if she said she wanted to break into the Hoover Dam without a good reason, he'd be on board, no questions asked.)

Yet here they were. She wondered what that said about the three of them. 

"I need more info on Gotham itself," she told him," There's a lot of media fluff about the high society, but nothing on the rest of the city. I'm trying to find out what's being done in the poorer neighborhoods, but all I'm coming up with is nothing."

Michael wrote down a few lines in his notebook (always in his pocket). "I'll get some people on it. Anything else?"

"Uber and taxi's fucking _suck_ here. Any update on my truck?"

He checked something on his phone. "I thought you didn't have a garage even? Where are you going to park it?" he spoke while thumbing through it. 

Kinley shrugged," There's a few storage units for rent nearby. I can park there, then walk the extra few blocks home."

His eyes shot up at her last sentence, but he didn't say anything about it. "Well, it looks like your truck's still in Oregon with Mom and Dad. Actually, I think Dad's unofficially stolen it from you." There was a hint of a smile on his face as he held up his phone to the screen. Kinley stepped in closer to see and burst out laughing at the picture of their dad and his dog, hanging out the side of her Dodge Ram with all their camping gear. 

"I should've seen that coming," she joked," What happened to his?"

"Hit a deer."

'_Ouch,_' she winced in sympathy.

"I'll let him keep it," she decided out loud," Early Christmas present."

He seemed to agree. "I'll email you the Bill of Sale and you can sign it over to him whenever."

"Thanks bro."

The look on his face whenever someone called him 'bro' was precisely the reason why she continued to call him that. "How about a motorcycle?" he suggested. Which yes, that had some merit and she would consider it. Wouldn't need as big a storage unit either. 

"I'll see what I can find," she agreed.

"Anything else?" Again, so eager to help.

"Nah," she didn't even bother smiling to reassure him. Michael wasn't big on false reassurance. "I'll figure out the rest. What were you originally calling for?"

And just like that, he was all back to business. "So I got a call from Angelo in Madrid; he's got a high profile client he wants to bring in on the family. Big celebrity name." Alright, he had her interest. She could understand Michael's hesitance on okaying it right away; big names meant a higher chance of exposure to the outside world. 

"Alright, I'll bite. Who is it?"

* * *

So yeah, it got easier to deal. Even if she didn't exactly 'deal'.

_"Status report?"_ said the lone text from Macie. 

Kinley very -_very_\- briefly contemplated throwing her phone out the window. But she was trying to 'deal', so she figured she'd attempt to reason with Macie. 

_"I don't have a handler, I don't give reports,"_ she texted back while downing a swig of Angry Orchard,_" But if you'd like to ask sister-to-sister, you're welcome to ask how I'm liking Gotham City."_

Macie didn't text back.

* * *

_"Can I ask you something?"_ There. A harmless start, a lead up to what he really wanted to ask. More or less. 

They had already been talking; going over the missing month and what each of them had been up to. Pterodactyl had recognized the pictures of Moynaq and asked what on earth he was doing there. (_"Conducting business,"_ had been his answer. To which her reply was_," Hon, I've BEEN to Mo'ynoq and I know there's no demand for realtors there. Wanna try again?"_ Jason, in a brief moment of self-preservation, did not rise to the bait. )

_"That's usually never a good start. What's your question and I may answer it,"_ she replied. 

Jason chewed on his bottom lip. She was right, that really hadn't been a harmless lead up, had it? God, what was he thinking? He might as well have started out with 'We need to talk'!_ 'Man up and just ask the damn question,'_ he mentally shouted and forced his thumbs to start typing away before he could second guess himself. 

_"Were you a child soldier?"_

If she said no, then he would leave it at that. Pterodactyl had no reason to lie to him, she hasn't so far, and while he believed Roy in that he thought she had... had been... well, if she did have PTSD, that doesn't mean she'd been a child soldier. But then again... if she had been moved around her whole life, mental trauma after mental trauma layered on, if she had a similar childhood to _his_...

If she said yes, then he didn't know what he'd do. 

It took her an agonizing four minutes and 17 seconds to respond -he was counting- and when she did, he felt his heart drop down into his stomach. 

_"I was never forced to fight if that's what you were asking."_

'Never forced to fight'. Not 'never fought'. Not 'no'. It was 'never forced'. Which meant that whatever she's done in the past, she did it of her own accord. _'I thought I did too,'_ he thought bitterly, remembering a torn and tattered suit encased forever in glass. 

Jason was grateful for having the place to himself right now, grumbled loudly and banged his head against wall he was leaning again. Pterodactyl was _supposed_ to be his one simple, easy, civilian friendship! Of course,_ of course_, the one time he chooses to have a pen pal with some stranger in a train station, he has to pick someone who was probably either a vigilante sidekick or evil henchwoman or something. 

And yet... where would he be if she hadn't stood in front of him and asked,' Are you okay?' all those months ago?

_"But no, I was not a child soldier,"_ his phone buzzed again and he glanced down to see more messages from her,_" I think we're the same in that we'd both fight to keep our loved ones safe, and whether or not we CAN fight, we still try."_

Pterodactyl had no idea just how right she was. 

Jason sighed; despite all his instincts telling him to pack up and let this friendship go, the mere thought of it made him feel sick to his stomach. So instead he asked,_" Why didn't you tell me about the fallen building? Or how you've been moved all around the world?"_

When she didn't text back right away, and this time he knew better than to think she was trying to think of an excuse, knew that Pterodactyl was very particular with what she said, Jason still felt that bit of trepidation run down his spine._ "If it's for the sake of anonymity, then maybe we should get rid of that,"_ he texted quick before he could stop himself.

Maybe Roy was right. Maybe it was time they stop with this whole 'I don't ask your name if you don't ask mine' thing. Jason meant this to be a purely vague friendship, a random pen pal sort of thing with just pictures and jokes. But ever since his birthday, he's been slowly coming to the realization that maybe he'd completely failed on that point. 

But then she answered back,_" You remember I mentioned my other friend and I got into a fight and he never came back?"_

_"Yeah?"_

_"That's what the fight was about. I told him my real name. I told him about my family. I told him to go learn as much as he could and come up with his own conclusions."_

Jason was getting that feeling back in his stomach....

_"Haven't seen him since."_

Well shit...

_"So I'm sorry, but I'm not ready to share too much with you," _she continued,_" I promise it's nothing bad, but people tend to overreact when it comes to my family name. Either because they expect too much from me, or blame me for all bad things in their life. And your friendship is one thing I don't want to risk losing too."_

More than anything, he wanted to find this Dimitri and punch him in the face. The fact that his face looked eerily like Dick's would be just the topping on the cake. It'd be like hitting two birds with one fist. And at the same time, Jason wanted to reassure her that no matter what _she's_ done in the past, it was _nothing_ compared to what he's done. That unlike certain other people, it was unlikely he'd go running for the hills. 

_'But would it be fair to keep pushing?'_ he asked himself. If he kept pushing, would he only end up pushing her away, just as Roy predicted he would try? _'Damnit Roy!'_ he cursed in his mind,_' Why'd you have to go and psychoanalyze me?!'_

And damn him for being right too.

Jason thumped the back of his head on the wall once, twice, three times before texting back._ "I wouldn't do that, like a certain other douche bag named Dimitri who I am now going to call Asshole #3. But I'll trust your judgement. We'll stick with the nicknames."_

Then, just to lighten the mood, he added,"_ But can I have different name other than Dorito Chip please?"_

He got a gif of Spiderman holding a sign that said 'NO'.

* * *

At the CASKet, Kinley nearly dropped her whiskey. "I'm sorry, I'm a _what_ now?"

"Well we had to keep tweaking the story here and there you know, keep everyone guessing as to who you really are. It's so much more difficult when you don't wear a mask."

"I don't _want_ to wear a mask! _Why_ on Earth would I wear a mask?!"

Stan the Stabby Bartender yelled at her from behind the bar to keep it down. The 'or else' was heavily implied, which Kinley soundly ignored. If he hasn't banned her by now, he probably never would. She was more upset with Coco, who had been telling her the tale of Officer Hotstuff and his search for a man named King. It was bad enough the GCPD was looking for her -gods, what had she done in those missing weeks?- but due to Coco spreading rumors left and right, she'd been turned into- made out to be- well, it _sounded_ like a-

"You made my nickname an urban legend!" she accused, not caring in the least if her drink spilled with the force of her wild gesturing. 

Coco calmly reached out and took the glass from her hand and set it on the table. "No, I made _you_ an urban legend," she corrected," And why _aren't_ you wearing a mask?"

"I am not a vigilante, Coco!" Kinley hissed under her breath.

Her expression was calm and smiley, but Coco's eyes were sharp. "Why not?" she asked, her voice much lower than the pithy tune she usually was," With your skillset and overprotective schtick, you could be one."

Her assessment was waved off with a scowl. "My 'skillset' is making furniture and downing shots."

Her friend smiled in a way that said she disagreed. "And beating up assholes in alleys and dive bars, escorting little kids through dark streets, protecting prostitutes from rapists _and_..." she leaned forward, smile growing sharper," most interesting of all: smashing through brick walls."

Before Kinley could contest that (or gods forbid, _confirm_ it) Coco pulled back. "But of course, your woodworking skills take honorary first place." She stared at Kinley with a small quirk to her lips, a challenge in her eyes to contest that Kinley was capable of all those and more. One manicured fingernail fingered her martini expectantly.

If she didn't know any better, Kinley would say she looked the epitome of a shrewd mafia boss right there. 

With nothing left to say that could convince Coco otherwise, they were at an impasse. Kinley had nothing more she was willing to share, and so she took back her drink and shot it down with one gulp. If only to prove her 'skillset' did include drinking like a champ. Yet Coco was still looking at her expectantly.

With a scowl, Kinley raised a hand for Stan to bring her another drink and settled back to deal with the force of nature that is Coco. "Just one question."

She nodded for her continue, purple locks bobbing delicately against her bare shoulders. 

"Were you planning this from the very beginning? When you gave me the nickname 'King'?"

The silence that fell over their booth was telling. Very much so. When Stan showed up with a glass of whiskey for Kinley and a cosmo for Coco, the taller woman halted him with a gentle hand on his bicep. "We'll be in the back room," she told him in a hushed voice. Whatever she meant by that, he must've understood for he stepped back and waited. Arms crossed and looking every bit the bouncer, Kinley wondered if he was trying to look more intimidating or protective. 

Coco stood up first without a word to Kinley and lightly stepped around Stan. Kinley took a deep breath and followed. But before she could get past Stan, he laid a big meaty hand on her shoulder. She paused to glance at him, surprised by the gentleness with which he did so. 

"She's usually right," was all he said, then he stepped away.

* * *

Kinley had never been to the back room -for obvious reasons- and so did not know what to expect. Whatever the girls got up to with their clients was none of her business. Even if personally she wished she could put a stop to it. So, logically, Kinley knew there were multiple rooms in the bar (the building was simply too big for there to be otherwise) but she was still surprised to be led to a spacious room with couches, a fridge, and an honest-to-god ping pong table. 

This was a goddamn rec room. 

Coco paused only to make sure she'd followed, before taking up a seat on one of the couches. The way she lounged back in it, fluffing the decorative pillow under her elbow, spoke that this was her spot and she spent a lot of time there. She set her drink on the conveniently placed side table. 

"Why, Coco?" Kinley asked again, still standing with her arms crossed," What's the point of creating this name, then building it up into a myth?"

Coco didn't answer at first, but then she asked," Do you know what a Meta is?"

A question for a question. She should've known. But -"Yes," - she knew about metahumans. 

"Are you one?" Coco pressed. 

There was no hesitation on Kinley's part," No."

The look she recieved told her Coco didn't believe her, but Kinley was in no mood to prove she wasn't a metahuman. She knew what she was and Coco would just have to take it at face value. Instead of pressing the issue, Coco folded her hands in front of her, looked her in the eye and said," I am."

And that was... unexpected. 

Coco was a Meta? 

Kinley wracked her memories for any hint of a clue, if she'd made any reference to such or if she'd ever displayed any abnormal abilities. She couldn't think of one. "Why tell me?" she questioned, taking her own seat on the other end of the couch," And what is it you can do?"

" Do? Nothing. It's nothing physical, but I can see... lights. People's lights, the kind they give off and the kind that lead back to them."

"So...auras?"

Coco was already shaking her head. "Not that simple. I don't see colors, they're all just white. What I see are... trails. yeah, trails is a good word," she hummed and took a sip of her martini," It's like little trails of light between people, what connects them together."

"So you see bonds?"

She shrugged delicately," Best way I can describe it. Stan once guessed they were like strings, but they're not a physical thing, they're constantly moving, like people's emotions."

So Stan knew about it too? Kinley wondered, but then again, Coco was always hanging around Stan's bar. "So what does that have to do with me?"

"Do you remember the first night we met?"

"Yeah. I got in a fight and got kicked out."

"No, you put a sleazeball in his place and got the notice of everyone in this building," Coco corrected," I remember the moment you walked in, I couldn't take my eyes off you."

"That sounds kinda creepy."

"Shut up and let me tell the story. And no, while I do agree you're a hot piece of ass, that's not why I was staring. It was all the lights trailing after you."

Kinley frowned and settled back into the cushions of the couch. Lights, trails, bonds, whatever Coco wanted to call them; Kinley didn't want to think about how they 'trailed' after her. But Coco was going to tell her anyways whether she liked it or not. "King, there's only a few people I've ever seen with that many trails connected to them," she started weaving her hands through the air, as if she could touch these lights she was talking about," Usually they're a fickle thing, growing stronger or weaker with every thought, brighter or dimmer, some even disappearing right before my eyes. But only the strong ones, the ones that can't be changed, are so dense they're like a string. And _you_. I'm talking hundreds, _thousands_, of bright little strings connected to you, all leading back to you, so solid that I feel like I can just reach out and _grab_ them."

"You're more than well-liked, King, you're a gravitational point. I see all these lights pulled towards you, with so many people connecting to you like you're the center of the galaxy... it's so bright that it's like looking at the sun."

_'Like looking at the sun,'_ echoed in Kinley's mind, a direct echo from a moment best left forgotten. _'Who would want to look directly at the sun?'_ she wondered; no one looked at the sun except in frustration and a desire to be blinded. 

"And then you _spoke_..." Coco continued, either ignorant or oblivious to Kinley's dismal contemplation," ...and I swear you could've been able to command that entire bar with a single sentence."

Voice like a rottweiler, she's been told. 

_'Voice like something else too,'_ Kinley reminded herself. 

"And when you told me your name was Kinley... well it was just too perfect," Coco almost sighed dreamily," I _was_ going to call you Queenie, but then King fit so much better."

Kinley's sigh was decidedly not dreamy. "I feel like I was just serenaded by a poet," she quipped with a frown," But that's still no reason to start spreading rumours about it."

To her surprise, Coco looked almost contrite about it. "It didn't start out that way. I just wanted you to have a nickname, something me and the girls could recognize you by. It was just a nickname. But then you went missing and that detective came around asking questions. So I messed around with him a little bit, threw him off your trail. Made him think he was looking for a man."

"And that's it?"

"Well..." she took a sip of her drink and refused to look at her. 

"Coco!"

"Well you're the one who refuses to wear a mask! It was only a matter of time before they figured it out so... I had to make it sound like King was a cryptid. Hide you in plain sight." She shrugged while holding her drink in front of her, contemplating its contents as she relayed her methods to Kinley. "So I told the girls to spread the rumours about you, keep changing it up, put any description they want on you, so they can never figure it out. To anyone who listens, the King could be a giant of a man with a beard or a child with an oversized sweater and a mean right hook."

Kinley was... impressed. "Hiding in plain sight," she breathed," The opposite of Guy Fawkes." At Coco's confused glance, she elaborated. "Instead of everyone looking like one person, that one person looks like _everyone_."

"Hiding a tree in a forest." They both smiled.


	31. Does This Mugging Make Me Look Bad?

The case with the suit was in its usual place -because it never moved, ever- when he returned from patrol. The suit and the mask were empty, but Damian could still feel eyes staring down at him as he put the kickstand down. Stepping back from his bike (built _just_ for him, hah take that Drake!) Damian couldn't help but notice it was much... lower than the other three motorcycles lined up. A space sat empty at the end, where the Red Hood's bike would've gone. 

Damian could only assume Todd took it with him when he left. 

"How'd your patrol go?" Father's voice echoed from over at the computer. Damian set his helmet down and frowned at it. Out of the corner of his eye, the memorial was still staring down at him. 

"Boring, as to be expected," he stated, turned towards his father. Bruce was leaning against the console with a cup of coffee in hand. He must've finished his own patrol earlier, for he was already out of the suit. 

Earlier that day, when he gave Damian the go-ahead to do a patrol on his own, he'd been ecstatic. A patrol on his own! And at only 14! None of the others had been allowed to go out on their own until... well not until they were out of the Robin suit. Grayson when he left to go be Nightwing at 18, Drake at 17, and Todd at... well, not until he was the Red Hood. 

But Damian got to be the first Robin to go out on patrol by himself. 

"Just the usual lowlife and filth," he said flippantly, working on removing his gear while he gave Father his report," I'm sure if I went back out by myself tomorrow, I might be able to find a decent enough fight."

Bruce hummed and sipped his coffee. Then he said," I thought you were going to patrol down by the University?"

Damian froze just as he unsnapped the last of his belt's keepers. "Uhh..."

Had he not had his back turned to Father, he might've seen the small smirk play on his face," Stephanie said she didn't see you at all tonight."

It took him all of two seconds to recover. "Tt, of course Batgirl didn't see me," he scoffed and continued removing his duty belt to place on the table," Brown hardly has the training or skill to even spot me when I'm conducting my patrol."

"Uh huh," Father hummed and clacked at the keyboard, sipping at his coffee," So what'd you do with those muggers on Jefferson?"

"Put in an anonymous tip at the GCPD to go pi-" Damian realized too late that Jefferson was near Crime Alley and decidedly _not_ in the University District. With a sigh, he hung his head in shame. "You followed me, didn't you?"

"Actually, Black Bat followed you."

Damian grumbled about that. Even when he was promised he could go on patrol, Father _still_ didn't trust him to do it by himself and had Cain follow him?! But before he could demand why bother letting him go out by himself in the first place, Father was striding across the cave towards him. "Damian..." great now he sounded scolding. 

"I specifically told you to patrol near the University _only_," Father frowned down at him, arms folded across his chest (_'Where'd the cup go?'_ Damian wondered idly). "Why would you disobey my orders and run around Crime Alley by yourself?"

_'Apparently **not** by myself though,'_ he grumbled, then threw his arms wide in frustration," Nothing ever happens at the University! School hasn't started yet so it's a ghost town and the only residential there is a bunch of old grannies that stay up too late playing Bingo!"

Honestly, Damian had lasted all of one hour before he felt like banging his head on a street light. 

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose and took three deep breaths before answering," You can't just go _looking_ for fights just because you got bored. Especially not in Crime Alley." When it looked like he wasn't getting his point across, he added," Damian, you _know_ the gangs are still in the midst of their turf war right now."

"So? The gangs are _always_ in the middle of a turf war."

"Not where there's also a power vacuum everyone's trying to grab," Father's voice was hard and firm," With Jason no longer controlling the gangs in Crime Alley, it's all Tim can do to just keep them contained and not spread their war over to the rest of the city. We've already had to move Stephanie's route into Otisburg so he can focus all his attention on the Bowery."

Yeah, yeah, Damian already knew about it. Didn't mean he had to like it though. "It was just one patrol, Father," he pointed out.

"One patrol where you specifically went looking for a fight in the most dangerous part of town," Bruce shot back at him," Which leads to another patrol. And another. Until you find a fight with an entire gang and whatever meta they've managed to hire, with no backup and no plan."

Damian scowled and turned away, a decidedly _not_-pout on his face. "I could've handled it," he mumbled under his breath. 

At this point, Bruce uncrossed his arms to lay one hand on his youngest son's shoulder. At the touch, he looked up and saw a soft, affectionate look on his father's face. "You're still young, Damian," he gently chided," You shouldn't _have_ to handle it on your own. Going off on your own means getting hurt."

Father probably didn't plan it. He probably didn't even realize he had done it, but when he spoke those words to Damian, his eyes darted off to the side. Just for a second, just long enough to glance off at something before looking back at his son. Damian didn't even have to look to know it was the memorial case. 

"And until I can be sure you won't run off on your own," Bruce added firmly," No more solo patrols for you, young man."

"What?!" Damian squeaked, enraged," Father!"

"And I heard you put a man in the hospital," Bruce was not waylaid by his protests," Really, Damian? Did you have to break his leg?"

"That one wasn't me," he protested," It was the woman who hit him with 2x4."

Bruce blinked. "What woman?"

* * *

_"Are you okay?"_

What an odd thing to ask, he'd thought at the time. _She_ was the one to get mugged in the first place, which later on he berated her for walking around alone at night in the first place. 

_"Tt,"_ he'd scoffed, sneering down at the two men at his feet,_" Not even a challenge."_ The third laid a ways over, at the feet of a woman in a red sweatshirt and holding a 2x4 she'd found by the building's back door. Damian recognized her, kinda, as the woman who had fought at an attempted bank robbery some months back. He didn't recognize _her_ per se, but the way she delivered a front kick then a roundhouse had been familiar to him. 

_"Are you okay?"_ she'd asked as soon as she dropped the piece of wood back on the ground. Damian huffed at the so called concern in her voice. 

_"What a ridiculous question,"_ he retorted_," As if filth like this could harm me."_

_"He shot at you,"_ she replied in the same way that Drake sometimes did when he was too tired to argue but someone had just said something so stupid he just had to respond. 

_"And I wear armour,"_ Damian shot back,_" Besides, you're the one stupid enough to walk around at night."_

She'd just laughed at him.

* * *

There was a persistent knocking at her door and it wouldn't stop until she opened it. "Something I can help you with?" she asked with a wry smile, leaning against the doorjamb. Shantelle looked 100% unashamed and stuck her thumbs in her front pockets. 

"Annie wants to know what's your plan this Friday," she announced, more of a statement than a question. 

To be perfectly honest, Kinley was infintely amused. "And why does Annie want to know my Friday plans?" she asked, even though she had a growing suspicion as to the answer already. 

"I'm not answering until you're answering."

Ah, there was good old Shantelle. The girl who most likely answered all schoolyard questions with 'Why?' and settled all arguments with 'Because I said so'. Still, very entertaining for Kinley. "I'll probably be hanging out at the bar," she replied truthfully. With no Dimitri to bug and no Red Robin coming around for gossip and coffee, her nights were very much open. 

"Which bar?"

She told her the CASKet and the address, then Shantelle was gone just as fast as she'd shown up. Leaving Kinley to shake her head with a laugh and close the door. So much for getting an answer out of Shantelle. Still, she should probably warn Stabby that the two girls might show up on Friday. He'd love it.

* * *

Dimitri threw his keys at Red Robin's head upon walking in and seeing him on his couch. He caught them of course, but it was the thought that counted. "Give me those back so I can throw them at you again," he asked, almost politely. 

Tim thought about it for a moment -for amusement's sake- but then dropped the keys onto the coffee table. "I have a question," he spoke and stood up.

"You have thirty seconds," Dimitri called over his shoulder from the kitchen. 

"What's the real reason you hate Kinley?"

There was a dark, _dark_ glare on Dimitri's face as he poked his head out from around the doorway. "I already told you why," he snarled. 

Externally, Red was cool as a cucumber, quipping back in a snarky tone," And I want an honest answer." But internally, he was intrigued by how fast Dimitri went from annoyed to full on Grump. _'He's got Dick's face, but he acts like Jason,'_ he thought wryly,'_ But at least Jason can act.' _

"And while we're at it, tell me about your other family that you mentioned," he called out," Because I can't find any other Shukis, here or otherwise."

The rest of Dimitri's body emerged from the kitchen as he leaned against the doorframe. His arms crossed in front of him, gripping his own elbows as he glared at Red Robin. "Because they're not named Shukis," he scoffed," Idiot."

"Battaglias?" Tim guessed," That's why you hate them, don't you? Because they're the reason you went to the Balchunas."

Dimitri mouthed a long, drawn out 'Woooooow' before answering," I never met a Battaglia until I was 18 and I am _definitely_ not related to them. Stop asking about my family, Red."

"Then why do you hate Kinley so much?"

"God, you're fucking annoying when you're curious," Dimitri mumbled under his breath before throwing his hands up in annoyance. "Where do you want me to start?" he grumbled," She's annoying; she's overbearing; she sticks her nose in places it doesn't belong; she's clingy; and she's too defensive of her crazy family."

Now Tim wasn't a good judge, as he barely knew Kinley and had his own suspicions on her, but those reasons didn't quite line up with what he had in mind. But funny that Dimitri kept bringing up her family. Almost as if his beef was with the Battaglias and not Kinley personally. 

"Now if you don't mind," and boy, that was an interesting sneer to see on someone with Dick's face," I'm going to eat my supper and then fall asleep watching Amazing Race reruns." He disappeared back into the kitchen, one hand flailing behind him and Tim could've _sworn_ he saw a lone finger sticking up. "Close the window on your way out or however you snuck in here!"

_'Grump,'_ Tim thought to himself and when Dimitri came back out, Red Robin was gone.

* * *

This time, Jason's phone was on silent when he got the text. He and Roy were a mile deep digging through archives and looking for evidence as to what actually happened to MV McManus and its cargo -no way a ship that big just _disappears_\- when it buzzed in his pocket. 

_"On a scale of 1-10, should I be conceal carrying in Gotham?"_

Forget the archives, he could not text back fast enough. _"!!! 11! Do you mean to tell me you DON'T have a gun with you at all times?!"_

Roy glanced over at him, but didn't say anything yet. Jason continued to furiously bash away at his phone with his thumbs,_" Rule number 1 of Gotham: ALWAYS HAVE A WEAPON ON YOU!"_

Her reply was snarky and he should've expected it that, but it still frustrated him._ "Are you saying a knife doesn't count? That's knifist."_

_"Not if the other guy has a gun!"_ he mashed at the keypad, growling under his breath,_" What happened? Why are you suddenly asking if you should start carrying? Were you just mugged?"_

"Hey Jaybird... you're getting a little red in the face," Roy cautioned and with a grin he reached up to tug on Jason's hair," What's wrong?"

It was a testament to Jason's ire right now that he didn't do anything more than pull his head away from Roy's grasping fingers._ "You live in a place called Crime Alley in the most crime-ridden city in America. And you wander the streets unarmed?!"_

When no reply was forthcoming -not that he gave her much chance with his rapid fire texting- he seriously contemplated just calling her. In the meantime, Roy typed with one hand and reached out to tug at Jay's hair again. He kept just barely missing. Just as he was about to say fuck it and call, her response pinged through. 

_"Wow, you have Opinions. Okay 1: I will conceal carry if it will make you feel better. 2: the thought came to me when I was adding in a concealed drawer to the nightstand I'm building. And 3: it was an attempted mugging."_

That... did not make him feel any better. "I'm going to get gray hairs because of this chica," he grunted, staring at his phone like it was personally responsible. 

"You already have white hairs," Roy was quick to say, ever so helpful. He flicked Jason's white bangs. "I'm guessing Pterodactyl's giving you a heart attack."

Jason's grunts turned into a grumble. "'Attempted mugging' she says," he sounded so weirdly sarcastic and offended," It's a fucking miracle she's still alive. _Why_ did she have to move to the fucking Bowery?"

He was more yelling at his phone at Roy, but it was still so entertaining to watch. "Tell her hi for me," Roy said, doing a little victory wiggle in the chair when he finally found the files he needed. 

"_No_," Jason's snarl was vicious.

Roy knew he'd pass on the message anyway. 

Just... maybe not right away. He watched in fascination as Jason bashed away at his phone, narrating all his texts on how to survive as a lone female in Gotham City. Roy may have been invested, but so was Jason, and Roy couldn't wait for the day where he figured that out on his own.

* * *

"Here."

Kinley blinked at the paper held out to her like it was a foreign object. "Umm..." she so eloquently said, looking up from the job application to Bill's face," Huh?"

She and Shantelle were just making a quick store run (she wanted to check out new tiling for the kitchen while Shantelle needed something or other for her car) They had just arrived and started browsing tile patterns, wishing Anne were there to give some advice. They hadn't been expecting Bill to walk up with a job application. 

"I'd like you to fill one out," he said," I'm looking for more hires and I know you know what you're doing when it comes to building stuff."

Yeah, _wooden_ stuff. Never trust Kinley around anything electric (Seamus had officially banned her from touching anything involving wires) and she's only just barely learned how to install flooring. "But I'm a horrible retail person," was all she could come up with. And it was true. Kinley _hated_ sales with a passion, and if she ever had to fake smile for a person in the name of retail, she'd go insane. She tried it once in her teenage years. That poor shoe store owner...

But Bill just smiled his paternal Grandpa Smile and continued," I don't need a sales associate, got plenty of high school students looking for part time jobs. What I need is an installer. Someone to help these idiots tell the difference between a miter saw and a router and occasionally put up some cupboards for them."

That still sounded like retail work to her. Some of her trepidation must've shown on her face, her dilemna on how to tell this sweet old man no. Because next thing she knew, Shantelle was grabbing her application herself. "K's already working full time, but I could always use some part time work," she announced, taking the paper and looking it over with a curious eye. Only Kinley could tell she did so with an _entirely_ false cheer. "Got any openings in automotive?" Shantelle glanced up with the biggest eyes Kinley's ever seen her make. 

Bill, in fact, did _not_ have any job openings in automotive. So with a horribly fake "Oh well," Shantelle sent him off with his application before shepherding Kinley off to the brake pads. There, the two of them let out two long, exhausted sighs. 

"What the hell," Kinley gaped," Just... che chazzo?" (Somewhere in the back of her mind, she could imagine her mom's scandalized face).

Shantelle punched her shoulder," I just saved you from a job in retail. Thank me, bitch."

She couldn't help but laugh. "Thank you. Oh gods, thank you. I can't work in a store, I just _can't_. I'd murder a customer by my first week."

"You're _welcome_. Now you owe me."

To that, Kinley could agree. "Yes I fucking do. What do you want?"

* * *

"I want a puppy."

Coco snorted into her drink at Annie's drunken announcement. On Annie's other side, Shantelle groaned and banged her head on the table top. "We are _not_ getting a puppy," she said. They suspected this wasn't the first time the two have had this conversation. 

"Why not?" Anne pouted," Puppies are cute. And they're fluffy and cuddly. And you won't let me have 20 kids." 

Coco's laughter grew. 

"You don't even know what you'd do with 20 kids," Shantelle hissed at her girlfriend. 

"I want _all_ the babies."

Off to the side and thoroughly enjoying the show, Kinley and Coco sat back with their drinks and watched. "I like them," Coco nudged her elbow. 

"You just think Annie's adorable when she's drunk."

"She _is_ adorable."

Which, point. And the fond way in which Shantelle gazed at her girlfriend, shaking her head, was also adorable. "I can imagine her with a basset hound or a bulldog, something that loves to cuddle and lay around all day in the apartment," Kinley hummed thoughtfully and swirled her drink," I give it a month before she convinces Shantelle."

Next to her, Coco looked intrigued. "You know about dogs?"

"I grew up around dogs," she answered," Always had at least one at my side. Now, my dad runs an animal rescue in Oregon."

"Well then why don't _you_ have a dog?" Coco asked. 

The question was a valid one. It's been a long while since Kinley's had a dog of her own. The last was... the last was when she was 18, and she'd left Henry in Oregon with her father where he got spoiled rotten. She still got pictures every now and then of him -he was getting up there in years- but it had been years since she's had a constant companion at her side. 

Her work never really allowed for it. 

But now... if she was planning on staying here... on settling down in Gotham...

Maybe. Just maybe.


	32. Where One Goes, We All Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's get this story moving, shall we?

"Mayor Akins, Commissioner Gordon, Chief Bock, command staff of the GCPD, families, distinguished guests, and most importantly, members of the Gotham City Police Academy Recruit Graduating Class... It is a privilege to be asked to speak at your commencement ceremony today-"

James Gordon shifted in his seat, wishing they had used something more comfortable than metal folding chairs. Hopefully this speech wouldn't take long so he could get to his own, but knowing Lady (she _insisted_ on the title) Beauchamp, that most likely wouldn't be the case. She was not known for being taciturn. 

"It's a big class this year," he commented to Chief Bock sitting at his left. It was true. The recruits sitting in the middle of the auditorium, lined up stone faced and serious, was an abnormally large group. He never really kept track, but Gordon couldn't remember there ever being more than 15. 

"Thirty-three additions to Gotham's Finest," Chief Bock whispered back," Lieutenant Hennely's already given me a list of ten of them he wants for the QRT."

Thirty-three? And Hennely wanted ten of them? "Hennely's usually pretty strict about who's assigned to his team," he couldn't help but muse," What's he want with ten graduates fresh out of the academy?"

"-serve your community with all the pride you can muster and recognize that so many facets of your commitment to the law enforcement profession calls for-" Beauchamp continued to ramble on. 

"Would you believe me if I said half of this year's class are all related?" Bock said.

"I would say that sounds outrageous," Gordon replied. 

"Well they're not all brothers and sisters. Just a lot of cousins. Sounds like it's a family tradition sort of thing."

Gordon hummed, thoughtful. He looked at the paper in his hands, the agenda for today. He hadn't bothered with it before, but now he opened it and skimmed over the words. Sure enough, on the last page, there was a list of the graduates. 

There were some Nickelsons, some Wagners, some names that he would probably butcher if he tried to pronounce. The names that stood out for having multiple were the Acies, Battaglias, Johnsons, Lottares, Petersons, and Smiths. He wondered which ones were the related ones. "And they all decided to come to Gotham?" he asked. 

"And just as vital, the conduct of every member of their chain-" Beauchamp went on. 

"You know," Bock replied," I managed to ask one of them before they got seated." He leaned over and pointed out a name to Gordon. "This one, see? Jacob Acies. Good kid. Polite but not shy. Apparently he used to be U.S. Army. Wanna know what he said?"

"He said, 'The family sticks together, sir. Where one goes, we all go.' Now ain't that something?"

"Yeah..." Gordon hummed," It's something alright."

* * *

_'I can't believe I'm fucking doing this...'_

While she could blame Anne for putting the idea in her head, Mom and Tariq for supporting it (the _look_ on Tariq's face over Skype when she mentioned a dog and the way he practically _ordered_ her to get one), and even Seamus for giving her the address, Kinley knew this was something she was going to do no matter what. Honestly, she's a little surprised she hadn't done this already. 

Trent would be so jealous. 

"Hello, welcome to the Gotham Pound," the girl at the desk greeted when Kinley walked in," Are you looking for a dog or cat? Lost your pet and hoping they're here?" Straight to the point, Kinley liked that. 

"Looking to adopt," she corrected, walking up to the desk," I want to get a dog."

A wide grin broke out across the girl's face," Awesome!" She rummaged around under the desk until she came out with a piece of paper. With a practiced ease, she attached it to a clipboard then handed it to Kinley. "You fill that out while I take you back to the kennels."

* * *

The kennels were clean, if bare. There were a few dogs barking of course, but overall it wasn't cacophonous as most lounged quietly. The girl was explaining the requirements for adopting while Kinley walked the length of the kennels. 

The puppies were up near the front (of course) and she had to stop to let a few golden retriever mixes lick her fingers through the chainlink gates. Then came the older and bigger dogs. An adorable beagle yipped at her and jumped up on its hind legs. There were a couple pit bulls with their big goofy grins. She paused at one dog, trying to determine its breed before deciding it was a mix that just happened to look like Tramp from the movie. Said dog only rose its head in response to her kissy noises before going back to sleep.

"So, any catch your eye?" the girl asked. 

Even though all these dogs were cute and she could see herself loving any of them, Kinley already knew who she wanted. 

"The ones next scheduled to be euthanized."

"I..." the girl blinked," beg your pardon?"

Kinley gave the labrador one last scratch through the fence before rising from her crouched position. Slowly, making sure to enunciate clearly, she repeated," I want the ones next scheduled to be euthanized."

"Oh, umm..."

* * *

If they had names before, the pound did not know them. Roscoe and Ace were both extraordinarily different yet extraordinarily the same. At first glance she thought they were both german shepherds until she got a look at Roscoe's coloring and determined him to be at least part rottweiler. 

The two were set apart from the other dogs; for good reason as Ace was barking and growling viciously as soon as they entered. He didn't jump at the gate, Kinley noticed, even if he did look quite the ferocious picture. 

"They're just... too aggressive to adopt out," the girl tried to explain, sounding both apologetic and clinical. Like she was resigned to the fact that these two were destined for the shot. "Listen, I can't even guarantee I can let you take 'em," she said. 

Kinley crouched at the meeting of the two kennel gates, half into Ace's space, half into Roscoe's. She watched Ace and his aggressive growling, hackles raised and tail swishing back and forth. She watched Roscoe and his head lowered, quiet but with his teeth bared. To others it may have been nothing, but to Kinley it was very telling how Ace stood in the middle of his kennel while Roscoe was nearly pressed against the back wall. 

"Why can't I?" she asked the girl," They don't look feral to me."

"They _are_ feral."

"Only to the untrained eye."

"They're _killers_."

Kinley blinked. "Come again?"

The girl sighed, obviously not looking forward to telling the story. "They've both killed. That's why we gotta put them down. Roscoe was brought in by the PD because he... well, they think he killed his owner. Poor little old man, had his throat ripped out and everything."

"I see..." She didn't. Kinley looked at the rottweiler shepherd, at his tucked-in tail and she felt an overwhelming sense of caution. This dog was _scared_. "And Ace?"

"He was the Joker's dog."

Ah, no more explanation needed there. Ace was an aggressor; he would've had to been just to survive. And yet... something kept bothering Kinley.

"Can I have 5 minutes alone with them?" she asked. 

"What?!" for a moment it looked like the girl's eyes were going to pop out of her head.

Kinley shrugged and stood up. "You don't have to let them out," she reassured," I just want five minutes with them. Without you."

As calm as she had been before, the girl was completely flustered now. "But I don't think- they're just so- what if-?"

"Give me five minutes."

Maybe it was the short nature of her request. Maybe it was the steady, lilting tone in her voice. Maybe it was the fact that when Kinley said it, it wasn't a request but an order. Or maybe it was another worker sticking his head in the room and saying," Umm, Mel? We've got a situation out front?"

So with a toodle-doo wave, Kinley saw her and the boy (Kyle apparently) off with the promise not to open the cages. As soon as the door shut behind them, she turned back to the dogs. 

"Okay..." she tilted her head curiously at the two dogs," Okay, just you and me, boys." She murmured softly, low and soothing and was careful to move slowly as she approached the gates. Ace barked at her while Roscoe let out his first growl. It was a warning to back off, so she stopped. Slowly, so so slowly, she crouched in front of Roscoe's cage. Then down to a crosslegged sit. 

Then she pulled a package of hot dogs out of her coat. 

Ah, there it was. The corners of Kinley's lips went up dramatically when Ace immediately stopped barking, his nose sniffing the air. It was only a moment, just a moment, before he went back to growling. 

Roscoe didn't budge an inch, but went completely silent. 

"Good boys," she praised the both of them, taking a hot dog and breaking it in half," I know, I know this is scary, but you're okay. You're okay." She threw one half to Ace first, then to Roscoe.

They both gobbled them up immediately. 

Kinley smiled at the implications. "Good boys," she repeated," You're not killers, just two scared dogs." Ace growled, as if to remind her how vicious he could be. "Oh I'm sorry, _you're_ certainly not scared, are you?" She threw him more hot dog. 

Roscoe took a step forward, nose twitching, so she tossed him some too. 

Both were silent now, watching her warily. Ace's tail high and alert, Roscoe's low and stiff. Ace seemed the more aggressive between the two so she focused on him first. Not on his face, of course, Kinley knew better than to stare him in the eyes. So instead she looked him over, searching for his other cues. When none appeared visible to her, she tried to prompt one. 

Slowly, always slowly, she raised her hand -Ace growled, but she didn't stop- and scratched behind her ear, much like a dog would.

He stopped growling and licked his nose. 

"_Good_ boy," she repeated the action.

He scratched behind his ear. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Roscoe dip his head curiously. 

Five hot dogs later and decidedly more than five minutes, Kinley had by now lured both dogs over to her as close as the fence would allow. She pressed the back of her hand against the chainlink (not through it!) so that Roscoe could smell her. Once she was reasonably sure Roscoe decided she was trustworthy, she tried the same with Ace. 

Unfortunately, this was around the time when the door opened and Mel, Kyle, and an elderly man entered. Ace barked at the newcomers, but Kinley was immensely pleased to see that Roscoe ignored them entirely, trying to lick her hand through the fence. 

"Shhhh Ace," she called out to the other dog and moved her hand from Roscoe back over to him. He shifted at her curiously, sniffing her hand through the chainlink.

Behind her, Kyle and Mel were gaping in open shock. "How did-?"

Ace did not lick, but he did not try to bite, so Kinley took that as a win. Tossing the last hot dogs to each of them, she stood to greet the humans. "Since I've proven they can be rehabilitated, _now_ will you let me adopt them?"

But it was not Mel nor Kyle who answered her, but the aged gentleman. "Actually,_ I_ am here to adopt Ace." He stepped forward and that's when Kinley saw him, he and his black and white suit and sharp, clever eyes. "Alfred Pennyworth, at your service," he held out a hand. 

Kinley had never met Alfred Pennyworth in her life, nor had she ever heard that name. But one second meeting this man, and she knew this was a man who could be a good caretaker for Ace. "Kinley Battaglia," she smiled and shook his hand," at yours."

* * *

Ace pulled viciously at his leash, Roscoe did not. Or rather, _Gelert_ did not. (When signing the adoption papers, she had decided to change his name. "A new life, buddy," she'd told him as he sat at her side, all dressed up in his leash," New life, new name.")

Kinley watched in satisfaction as Ace pulled and pulled at his leash, but never once turned around to snap at his new owner. _'Dogs can tell,'_ she mused and that furthered her like of this Alfred. Alfred, the poor man, struggled with the force of which Ace yanked on the leash. "A body harness will make it easier to control him on the leash," she offered. 

It was almost comical how Alfred braced against the giant dog's insistent tugging. "I will..." he tugged back at the leash," have to... take that... into consideration." Finally, Ace got distracted by a patch of grass and stopped to sniff at it fervently, giving poor Alfred a break. 

Kinley laughed. "So much energy," she cooed at Ace. Gelert, in contrast, stuck to her side, leaning heavily on her leg. "Good boy," she told him, reaching down to let him sniff her hand again. 

In her peripheral, she noticed Alfred looking at her with an unreadable expression. "Miss Battaglia," he spoke up," If I may ask, are you a dog trainer?"

A reasonable conclusion. But- "No," she answered," Not anymore. I was never an official trainer, but my dad likes to take in strays and rescues which led to him opening an rescue shelter, so I learned when I was young. Once you can read their body language, it's easier to, I dunno, speak back in a way they can understand."

Alfred smiled, seemingly pleased by her answer. His eyes drifted over to Ace, who was so utterly enthralled by whatever scents he had found, then to Gelert who leaned so heavily against her legs that he might fall over if she moved. "I am impressed by the way you are able to interact with both dogs," he admitted," I know of Ace's particular... circumstances and that he is not readily accepting of anyone."

She understood. An abusive over was bad enough; having the Joker be the abusive owner was... on a whole other level. But for Ace to be able to come back from that, and for Alfred to believe in him to do so? That spoke wonders about both of them. "Yeah, they mentioned how he came to them," she hummed and glanced at Ace," Poor thing. He's lucky he got out before something worse happened."

Alfred frowned, as if he knew what Ace's fate would've been otherwise. "Yes," he agreed," Lucky indeed."

He glanced over at her. "Should you and Gelert require a lift home, I would be more than happy to drive," he offered. 

Kinley thought of her rundown apartment building in the worst part of town, where Dorito Chip told her people got mugged and tires were stolen off nice cars. She looked at Alfred's neatly pressed suit and tie and the money he was able to spend just to adopt Ace. Whatever Alfred did for a living, she didn't know, but that attire and mannerisms screamed 'rich and money'. Crime Alley would surely be _way_ out of his comfort zone. 

"You don't need to," she declined," I was planning on walking home." It was a good few miles away, but she's walked further. 

But Alfred would not take no for an answer. "All the more reason to." There was a non-subtle glance at the sky, then," I do believe it is going to rain."

_'Well that's just a dirty trick.'_

* * *

Alfred Pennyworth had a nice car. Like, a really nice car. It's been a while since Kinley had been in a Mercedes. Even longer as a passenger in one. It just wasn't a practical car, but Alfred drove it like it was, not minding in the least if Ace and Gelert jumped around on the back seat. 

"So you're... a butler?" Kinley stared at him. 

He nodded. "For many years to the Wayne family."

"Wayne? Like Bruce Wayne?"

"The very same."

"Wow..." she blinked._ 'Well I'll be,'_ she thought, dumbstruck. Outside the car, she watched other cars pass by as they weaved through the traffic. Bruce Wayne, huh? Wasn't that one of -if not _the_\- richest guys in Gotham City? And here was his butler adopting a dog with PTSD and giving a complete stranger a ride home in a Benz. 

Gotham was weird. 

In the back seat, Gelert made a harumph sound and flopped down, obviously not liking the car ride. Ace remained standing, ears perked and eyes watching out the window. "So will Ace be your dog or...?" she questioned, voice trailing off in implication. 

"My hope is that Ace will become a part of the family," Alfred said and Kinley couldn't help but believe him," I do believe he will fit in perfectly."

"Because you already have a lot of dogs?" she guessed, even as she knew the answer. 

Alfred gave her a side glance and a look that told her he knew she was being obstinate on purpose," Because he would not be the only member of the family to have come from a difficult situation."

Which, okay, point to Alfred. Kinley didn't know much about the Wayne family, but there was enough news about them that she knew the majority of the Wayne children had been adopted after some... unpleasant situations. She tried to remember what she knew about Bruce himself: a horde of adopted children, co-CEO of Wayne Enterprises along with his son, and the victim of a _lot_ of memes online. 

"Well..." she glanced back at the dogs in the back seat," I'm just glad you're not going to turn him into a guard dog, or else I'd have to fight you for custody of him."

The corner of Alfred's lips quirked up, as did one of his eyebrows. "Indeed?"

"Indeed," she parroted back with a nod of her head, not caring that she actually looked like a parrot in that moment," He and Gelert have been through enough and deserve forever homes. They're like people, the same with PTSD: they need to be loved, not used."

The quirk became a full-fledged smile. "You have strong opinions on the matter, I see." Kinley couldn't be sure, but it sounded like he approved. 

"Ah, here we are," he suddenly announced and the car rolled to a stop. Kinley looked out the window; how about that? Alfred had actually driven all the way through Crime Alley, right up to her apartment building. Either he was fearless or really did not care for the vast difference in wealth. Or both. 

Already, a small group was crowding around the car, eyeing it up with both fascination and contempt. Kinley recognized them as the boys who usually hung out on the stoop in the afternoons. If she was more optimistic, she'd think they were hanging out after school, but she'd never seen a backpack between the six of them. 

Hopefully they wouldn't harass Alfred too much. Not likely, but she could hope. "Thank you for the ride," she said sincerely.

"My pleasure, Miss Battaglia."

Outside, the boys were chattering loudly, making comments about the car and trying to peer through the tinted windows. It was embarrassing, to be honest. One even tried looking through the back passenger window and Ace started growling. 

It gave Kinley an idea. "Could you hold Ace's leash real quick?"

* * *

"Shit man, this a nice car!"

"Who the hell is rolling up here like they're Carlos Falcone?"

Kinley popped the door open to the sound of their chatter, not feeling the slightest bit bad as it bumped one of them on the hip. They shouldn't be standing so close to a stranger's car anyway; that's just asking to get nabbed. The nosy busybody yelped and stumbled. Of course, one of his buddy's stormed forward to defend him-

-until Kinley stepped out and they saw who it was. Well, then she only had to endure heckling. 

"Oh man, yo it's that Battaglia chick!"

"Aw hunny, you got yourself a sugar daddy?'

"No," she grinned," I got me a dog."

Then she opened the back door. 

Ace charged out the open car door, held back only by the tight hold Alfred had on his leash. A snarling, barking growling terror of fluff, Ace snapped at the boys and lunged as if he wished to tear them apart. The boys didn't say another word; they just took off running. 

"Haha!" she laughed long and hard after that, doubled over with mirth even after they were long out of sight. "Good dog!" she praised Ace (and Gelert, who sat so nicely in the back of the car). "Now _sit_," she directed a bit more force into that and so Ace sat. 

Kinley praised him again and coaxed Gelert out of the car, holding onto his leash in case he got any bad ideas. "Thank you again," she called to Alfred. 

There was a smile on the older man's face, obviously having enjoyed that debacle. "Anytime, Miss Battaglia," he waved as she closed the car door.

* * *

**SCREEEEECH!**

"Oh look, the ringtone's back!"

Jason's response was a mix between a sigh and a groan. "Did you change my ringtone again?"

The grin on Roy's face told it all. "So are you gonna answer it?"

Even from under the helmet, it was obvious Jason was glaring at him. "Arsenal... don't you think this probably isn't the best time?"

**SCREEEEECH!**

"It's umm... I kinda like the-uh, the ringtone..." Patrick Haleson, the head researcher for MatMed's Pharmaceuticals added in so graciously. Red Hood's gaze quickly diverted back to him, wondering why this guy was even offering up reviews on his goddamn ringtone while having a fucking gun aimed at his head. 

"Nobody asked you, Patrice," he growled. 

"Well, actually it's-"

BANG! Patrick, dear old Pat, flinched and screamed when Red Hood shot the chair he was tied to, careful to juuuuust barely miss his shoulder. "Since you're feeling so chatty," he placed one boot on the chair between Patrick's legs and leaned forward," Maybe _now_ you'll tell me what I want to know."

Patrick was downright shaking. It was adorable. "What-what do you want to know?"

While Jason openly fiddled with the trigger of his gun, Roy spoke up, one elbow resting _heavily_ on Patrick's shoulder. "You can start by telling us where they keep the formula for PT529."

"And," Jason nudged his thigh with the barrel of his pistol," Who had the big idea to develop a poison, release it atmospherically, then sell the only antidote for profit?"

The researcher stammered out a reply.

"I didn't hear you," Jason sang.

"D-Devon Berkley!"

"Good boy," then the last thing he saw was Red Hood's fist.

* * *

They had some research to do, some more investigating to be done before they made a move on Devon Berkley. The name was familiar to Jason; it's not the first time he's heard the name Berkley in relation to MatMed's Pharmaceuticals, but the first time he's heard the specific Devon. So while Arsenal and Red Hood delved further into MatMed's records (and Mr. Berkley's) Jason took the time to check his phone. 

"Tell her I said hi," Roy called out as soon as he saw Jay pull his phone out of his pocket. 

"I will do no such thing!" Jason yelled right back. 

"Yes you will," Roy grinned. 

_'Brat,'_ Jason thought sourly and decided just for that he wasn't going to forward the greeting to Pterodactyl. He was just about to tell Roy that but by then he'd already opened whatever picture she'd sent this time and promptly melted into a puddle of goo. 

_"Say hello to Gelert!"_ Accompanied: a picture of a black and tan dog with fluffy fur and the deepest doggy eyes Jason's ever seen. 

The next picture was of the same dog (Gelert, he loved the name) but Pterodactyl's hand was in the frame, cupping the pup's face and her thumb rubbing his cheek. Gelert's eyes were closed and he looked utterly content. _"This is my new baby. What do you think?"_

Roy's head lifted up from where he'd buried it in a laptop. He stared at Jason incredulously. "Did I just hear you make an 'awww' sound?"

All Jason had to do was turn his phone around and show him the picture.

"Awwwww."

_"He's adorable and I want him,"_ he texted back. 

Despite it being several hours since the pictures were sent, she took less than a minute to reply. _"I will fight you for him and I will win."_

Not only was she the size of a twig compared to him, but Jason thought it cute she wanted to fight him._ "In your dreams. But I'll be nice this time and NOT fight you."_

"Hah. Besides, I think he's rather comfy here." She sent a picture of Gelert huddled up on a dog bed. Gelert was almost too big for it, but it seemed to fit perfectly out on her balcony, where in the background Jason could see her myriad of potted plants. _"He likes to smell the thyme."_

Now Jason knows herbs, but he doesn't know the plant, so he could only assume thyme was the pot closest to Gelert's nose. Either way, he's never seen a dog look more pleased to fall asleep surrounded by a bunch of pots and plants. Then again, it was Gotham and even Jason would be much happier to sleep on a balcony garden than the streets or alleys. 

_"I have the feeling he's going to be a very happy doggo,"_ he texted back.


	33. S.O.S.

The next month, Jason received a series of photos and texts from Pterodactyl. A good amount were of Gelert and his subsequent training. 

1\. A picture of Gelert sitting obediently in front of the blue wall, proudly displaying his new red collar.

2\. Gelert having a stand off with an unknown woman of Native American heritage, both eyeing each other warily while a blonde sits in the background with a wide smile. The caption for that one read,_" I'm trying to resocialize him to other humans. My neighbors have volunteered to help."_ (It was in the following conversation that Jason learned Gelert was most likely from an abusive home and subsequently got the reputation of a killer._ "Probably finally had enough and killed his abusive owner,"_ Jason guessed,_" Good dog!"_)

3\. A week later came the picture of Gelert -the big lug- downright _laying_ on top of the blonde woman's lap. Both looked too happy for words.

4\. A video of Gelert at the dog park, roughhousing with a pit bull.

5\. Or Jason's favorite and new screensaver: Gelert with his nose absolutely _buried_ in the thyme plant._ "He REALLY likes thyme."_

Not all of their conversations were about her new dog though. Once they literally argued for an entire day on whether or not a blue couch would clash with the rest of her furniture.

_"It would match your walls!" _   
_"It's the wrong shade of blue! And I ALREADY have blue walls. It needs to be a complimentary color." _   
_"How about white? It's neutral and goes with everything."_   
_"OMG! I have a black dog!"_

(In the end, she got a grey couch and called it good. Roy had been absolutely no help with that argument and instead laughed his head off the entire day.)

And then once, he got one text that wasn't so whimsical._ "I did something stupid and don't want to think about it. Distract me."_ While Jason wanted to inquire what was wrong -desperately- he respected her wish and didn't ask. What he did do was distract her. Pterodactyl liked food, obviously, so he did a running commentary while making fry bread tacos. (Roy was in heaven that night)

After that night, they never mentioned it again. 

On October 27th, four days before Halloween, he got a phone call. He was sitting in a diner with Roy, the both of them chowing down on some late night waffles when his phone screeched. Then it screeched again. And again. Baffled, Jason pulled his phone out as it continued to yowl at him. 

"That's a phone call..." Roy commented, staring at it expectantly. 

It was. It really was. Pterodactyl had only ever called Jason the one time back at the end of August, and that was not a call he'd been proud of. So this time, just for a second, Jason had a brief moment of terror just remembering that night and the tiny words of," I'm sorry."

He doesn't remember standing, but next thing he knew he was just stepping past the diner entrance onto the sidewalk. Phone pressed to his ear, he froze right in the doorway. Next thing he knew, he was listening to an SOS tone. 

Over and over and over again.

* * *

**October 5th, 2020**

The lights were already on when he got home. That alone told Dimitri he had a visitor of the caped breed. "What are you here to harass me for this time?" he asked as soon as he opened the door. 

Red Robin glanced up from his wrist-tablet device. "You gonna give me the real reason why you hate the Battaglias yet?" he asked. 

"Nope." Dimitri slammed the bedroom door.

...........................................

**October 13th, 2020**

"Shukis! Office, now!"

While the request _could've_ been nicer, Dimitri sauntered into his editor's office without a care. She was frantically scrambling through little piles of papers on her desk, frazzled but not angry, so he wasn't worried. As far as Dimitri knew, he wasn't in trouble. 

"Looking for something?" he questioned. 

In lieu of answering him, his editor finished rummaging through her desk until she emerged with an official looking envelope," Hah! Found it!"

"Shukis, I've got an assignment for you," she told him while tearing it open," The Wayne Gala is November 21st, I need you to cover it."

"What?" he blinked," But that's Vale's assignment." Vicki Vale and whatever photographer she chose for the event. Always had been, assumed always will be.

But his editor was shaking her head and handing him the letter. "You've been specifically requested," she explained," I'm not sure what you did, but we got this yesterday. Signed off by Lucius Fox himself."

Dimitri had no idea who Lucius Fox was, but if he was able to specifically request who the reporter for the Wayne Gala was, he must be pretty high up in the company. He took the letter and quickly read it over, almost cringing at the formal tone but kept his cool. 

As long as it hadn't been specifically 'requested' by Wayne himself...

"Remember, it's a black tie event," his editor reminded him," So look your best."

* * *

**October 13th, 2020 (nighttime)**

The light was on again when he got home. Dimtri paused in the doorway upon seeing Red Robin leaning against the windowsill. "Nope," Dimitri closed the door and left.

* * *

**October 15th, 2020**

His closet was... pitifully lacking. Dimitri stared at the row of shirts hanging up, seeing nothing more than t-shirts, some polos, and a few button-ups here and there. His dresser was barely any better with not a pair of dress slacks in sight.

There was a time when he wore only the finest of suits, and could tell the difference between a Brioni and a Burberry. At the time, Dimitri had been all too happy to close those closet doors and not look back. Right now he wished he'd had the foresight to take just one outfit with him. 

While W.E. hosted multiple galas each year, this was _the_ Wayne Gala. The only one to be hosted within the stately Wayne Manor and the guest list was the most exclusive thing to be printed among Gotham's elite. It would be the richest of Gotham's richest and-

-and Dimitri had nothing to wear. 

With a sigh, he closed his closet door. As he did so, the attached mirror flashed with his reflection and he was momentarily stunned by a face that... was not his. Don't get him wrong, Dimitri knew who he was, but he always knew who he looked like. He liked to play dumb, that he didn't see the resemblence, that he didn't understand everyone's thinly veiled references at the Gazette. But he knew. He always knew. 

Did they think the people who raised him didn't remind him of that fact?

_("Make yourself smile. Make yourself frown. Stick out your tongue. Now show me your grumpy face," once upon a time, Trent had stood behind him in the mirror, making the most ridiculous of demands. Once upon a time, in a brighter time, Dimitri would laugh and make goofy faces along with him._

_Then Trent would look into his eyes, like looking into his soul, and say so sweetly," All those expressions are yours. This is **your** face, and no one else's.")_

Then Kinley looked into his soul, and he looked back.

_'Like looking at the sun.'_ At this point, he couldn't remember who said it first. 

_'Like looking at the sun.'_ : Frustrating and blinding, squinting angrily with eyes tearing up.

Dimitri sighed angrily and walked away from his closet. As he passed through his living room, sunlight filtered through the window. Unbidden, he stopped and stared at the sunbeams dancing along the floor.

_'Like looking at the sun.'_ Like... like looking at the rising sun and feeling only relief that tomorrow came.

* * *

**October 22nd, 2020**

This was new.

Dimitri blinked at the small box sitting in front of his door. It was unusual, to say the least, in that it was a bakery box. Plain white, with only his name written on it in sharpie. 

After staring at it for a long time as if it would explode, Dimitri elected to pick it up regardless. 

His apartment was blessedly empty for once, with no vigilante in sight. He was thankful for it, as he wanted to open this in privacy. Still eyeing it warily, he wasn't sure what could be inside, so he set it gently on the table. He lifted the lid...

...and stared in nothing short of awe at a small homemade cake. On top, written in frosting and terrible cursive, were the words,' Happy Birthday.'

* * *

**October 27th, 2020**

Gotham was busy, the hustle and bustle of the packed street reminding him of NYC. The air was crisp, a sign that winter wasn't too far away. The streets were decorated, an interesting blend of Halloween and Thanksgiving, and that was what he was photographing right now. 

He had just snapped a photo of a lovely assortment of faux fall leaves draped over a store front window when his phone rang. It took him a moment to pull it out of his coat pocket but it kept ringing. When he did, it took another moment to register the name. 

**'Incoming call: Kinley Battaglia'**

Why...was she calling _him_? Why was Kinley calling in the first place? It had- he counted the time in his head- it's been over three months. Over three months since Dimitri made his feelings known and she'd said she understood._ She had agreed._ And since then, the only one he's received calls and messages from was Trent and that was only because Dimitri's ex was stubborn. For over three months, the Battaglias held true to their word. 

So why call now?

The phone continued to ring, demandedly so. For a moment, Dimitri considered letting it go to voicemail. So he did.

It started ringing again. 

By now, he was more curious than upset. So he answered it this time. 

**TAP TAP TAP. Beep beep beep. TAP TAP TAP.**

A series of taps and beeps echoed in his ear, a simple code that he recognized instantly and Dimitri felt his body go cold. "Kinley?" he breathed. 

**TAP TAP TAP. Beep beep beep. TAP TAP TAP.**

"Kinley!" he said louder, hoping, _praying_ for an answer. 

**TAP TAP TAP. Beep beep beep. TAP TAP TAP.**

Someone bumped into his shoulder and he suddenly realized he was walking again, rushing along the sidewalk. He needed... he needed to get back to his car. He needed to get to Kinley. She wouldn't call if- wouldn't send out this message if she...

"Kinley, answer. _Please_!" he pleaded. 

**TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP!**

The tapping increased exponentially, sounding almost frantic. Then like a bus, it hit him. "Ex?" he gasped," Ex, is that you? One for yes, two for no."

**Beep.**

Oh... Oh! It was Ex. Dimitri didn't know he could make phone calls. 

He swerved around a group of shoppers. "Ex, where is Kinley? Can you tell me?"

**Beep beep.**

Fuck. "Is she in danger?"

**Beep.**

Double fuck. "Shit shit shit," Dimitri swore, almost running at this point," You have to give me something. I can't... I can't help Kin if I can't find her."

**TAP TAP TAP. Beep beep beep. TAP TAP TAP.**

"I know. I know! I'll... I'll find you, alright? Just... keep with me, okay?" he was almost to his car," I'll find a way to track the phone. The police, they can trace phones can't they?" Gods, of all the times he had to delete all Battaglia numbers! Seamus would've been able to find her within minutes!

**Beep.**

"Just hang in there, bud, I'll be there soo-"

"Look out!" Someone shouted, combined with the sound of a blaring horn. 

A hand, strong and firm, grabbed the back of his coat and yanked him clear off his feet. Dimitri fell back, landing hard on his ass and on whoever pulled him. His phone flew out of his hand-

-and the taxi sped by, right in front of him where he was about to step onto the street. His phone crunched under its wheels. "Oh my god, oh my god," the mother who'd yanked him out of the street squirmed underneath him, shaking as her young daughter tried to help them both up," Are you okay?"

Dimitri stared at the remains of his phone. 

Triple fuck.

* * *

**October 27, 2020**   
**Prague, Czech Republic**

"How fast can we get back to Gotham?" Jason asked, speeding through the city's traffic. 

Roy pulled the phone away from his ear to answer," Once we get back to the airport, it's an eight hour flight. Maybe longer if we have to go around storms."

Jason stepped harder on the gas.

Letting him concentrate on driving, Roy pressed the phone back to his ear," Anything new, buddy?"

**Beep beep.**

After the initial shock of the SOS message and Jason yelling at his phone, they discovered that whoever called with Pterodactyl's phone was _not_ her. And they were severely verbally limited, only able to communicate in beeps. The only morse code they knew was the SOS they'd sent out.

One beep for yes. Two beeps for no. Jason and Roy had quickly figured that out. 

Oh, and Pterodactyl was in danger. 

Bad men? One beep.

Guns? One beep. Safe? Two beeps. Roy could practically see Jason's blood pressure rising with every beep.

Was Pterodactyl hurt? Two blessed beeps.

Oh look at that, Jason's blood pressure was going down... 

As Jason drove, weaving in and out between cars, Roy wracked his brain for ways they could find Pterodactyl and this mysterious caller. Whoever it was, they couldn't tell them much. Finding a location was more than just a yes or no answer. They could narrow it down to Gotham, but by the time they got there, would the location even be the same? Would Pterodactyl have moved and whoever had her phone stuck wherever?

"We're on our way, okay?" Roy tried to reassure them," Just keep on the line okay? I might even be able to trace the phone."

**Beep.**

"I just gotta get my gear, then I can narrow your location down within a mile radius," he continued, thinking more outloud than speaking to Jason or the mystery caller," Even if we're not in Gotham by then, we can find someone nearby to help."

**Beep TAP TAP TAP**

Roy paused.

**TAP beep.**

That's more morse code! He thought they didn't know anything other than SOS. Jason nearly drove off the road when Roy scrambled over the dash, reaching for a stray receipt. "Jesus!" he swore and righted the car," Roy, what are you doing?" The redhead didn't reply right away, scratching some letters on to the back of the receipt.

"They're spelling something," he said, quickly writing down the letters as he heard them. 

B  
A

**Beep.**

T

"Batman? We already know about him, buddy," Roy said hesitantly into the phone.

**Beep.**

Another T?

**TAP beep.**

Another A...

"B. A. T. T. A," Roy read outloud.

**Beep beep TAP.**

'G...' he scratched it down.

All of a sudden, on the phone there was a rushing sound, a solid WHOOSH! Followed by a big BANG! and then...

...the call disconnected. 

_'Oh no,'_ Roy paled and stared at the phone. Call ended. "What?" Jason demanded, not taking his eyes off the road as they made a hard left turn," What did they say?"

Roy didn't answer right away, attempting to call back. 

The voicemail answered,**" The number XXX-XXX-XXXX is unavailable. Please leave a message after the tone."**

He tried again.

**"The number XXX-XXX-XXXX is unavailable. Please leave a message after the tone."**

"Oh no," he breathed, staring down at the phone and the little paper in his lap. B-A-T-T-A-G... 

..............................................

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I evil? Yes.  
Do I care? No.


	34. The Solidarity of Humanity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On October 27th, at 2:02PM and 2:11PM respectively, Dimitri and Jason received phone calls with an S.O.S.
> 
> At 2:23PM, an explosion destroyed the Free Clinic of Park Row

**{2:35PM}**   
**The CASKet **

The door slammed open with all the finesse of a gunshot. So it was only fitting that no less than five patrons drew their own weapons and aimed at the interloper.

Dimitri Shukis didn't give a flying fuck. "Where is she?" he all but growled, prowling up to the bar, "Where is Kinley?"

Everyone in the bar looked to Stan for a cue, guns still drawn. One meaty hand waved them off and everyone went back to their drinks. But Stan still gave no indication he was going to answer that demand. 

Dimitri stood his ground, glaring up at the much bigger man. "I need to find her, _now_," he demanded," She wasn't at her apartment, so tell me where she is."

Stan stared at him for a long moment before crossing his arms. The knife tattoo flexed. "What makes you think I can tell you where King is?" he grumbled. 

BAM! Dimitri's fist came down on the bar top. "Then point me in the direction of someone who can! She's in danger!"

The knife tattoo twitched, as much as Stan's face loosened just enough to reveal a growing concern. "She's with Coco," he said lowly, realization dawning over him. 

_"Where?"_

* * *

**{2:39PM}**

The Batcomputer buzzed to life, crackling a bit before Signal's voice came out loud and clear,**" Calling for backup to the Free Clinic on Park Row. There's been an explosion." **

No answer came right away.

On the computer, his location blinked rapidly on a map, centered squarely in the Bowery.** "Anyone there?"** Duke repeated. There was a grunt of exertion. **"The Free Clinic's been- holy shit!"** A loud rumble echoed in his comm as the sound of falling rock came over. Once everything settled, he resumed**," Explosion at the Free Clinic. Multiple fatalities and more still trapped."**

Still no answer came. 

**"Hello? Anyone there?"**

A hand gloved in black pressed a button. "This is Batman checking in. We'll be there in five minutes."

* * *

Batman said five minutes. He and Robin made it in four. Red Robin made it in three. 

"What happened?" was his first words upon landing next to Duke in the midst of the rubble. Even as he asked, he stepped up beside him and together they pulled a large piece of stone aside. 

There was a brief second, then Duke tugged Tim over two feet. A piece of rubble fell from above them, right where Red Robin used to be. "Thanks," he smiled. 

"No problem," Duke shrugged. They went back to moving bits of brick and plaster as Duke explained," I'm not sure what happened here. I was in the area when I felt the blast. No warning, no funny business going on. I got here just as the fire trucks did."

Tim scrambled at the rocks, using his bo staff as a lever. "What caused it?" he asked. 

Duke was silent, and the look on his face was worrying. 

"Signal?"

Mask or not, the Signal armour did nothing to hide the pained look on Duke's face. "I overheard some firefighters guess at a gas leak; it's an old building. But some of the bodies we already pulled..."

A hand laid on his shoulder and they both looked up to see Batman had arrived. "I'm sorry you had to see that, Signal," Bruce said, sounding actually sincere. 

Duke was already shaking his head. "It's not that. Bodies don't... bodies don't bother me anymore."

"But some of them were dead before the explosion," he continued," At least six were found with gunshot wounds. So I was thinking...:

"The explosion might not have been accidental," Tim finished. 

"Exactly."

Bruce frowned, made even more severe by the suit. "Any survivors to tell what may have happened?" 

Duke pointed to the ambulances. "Just a few so far. I stuck over here because well..." He turned back to the section of building he'd been trying so desperately to clear. "There's a lot of light shining in this area. I think there's a lot of people under here."

Bruce seemed to consider it. "Can you see anything else?" he asked," Anything from before?"

"Still trying to figure it out," Duke replied, shoulders sloped downward," I'm just seeing a lot of fire from the explosion. Before then... it's all a jumble. Lots of flashes and a big moving bright light. Not a lot to go off of."

They would have to investigate later. Right now, the priority was finding survivors, which Batman told all of them. "You three keep digging," he instructed," But be careful. We don't know what we're dealing with here and there could still be hostiles in the area." And with that, he stalked off. Presumably to find said hostiles. 

So the three of them - Signal, Red Robin, and Robin- worked to clear the rubble in search of survivors. Other, civilians and officials alike, ran forward to help and soon they had an entire team working together. There were shouts and calls for anyone hidden under the stone, ears listening for a reply, and hopes that they were alive. 

Duke, following what he could see, uncovered a deep crevice from which a strange light was emanating. He reached inside and felt cloth. A tug later and he emerged with a bag. 

A bag of cell phones. Some were crushed, but others remained intact with their screens lit up with notifications and texts. One such phone began ringing, which caught Tim and Damian's attention. They all exchanged glances; they could make the connection. "Cell phones in a bag," Tim frowned," There was a hostage situation."

"No calls came over the scanner about any hostages," Duke added. 

"And this is a clinic, not a bank," Damian pointed out. 

A small clue was found, but it only opened up more questions than answers. "So then who?" the line between Tim's eyes furrowed and deepened," And why?"

The phone rang insistently inside the bag and Duke considered answering it, but then one of the volunteer rescuers was shouting.

"I found them!" his voice rang over the ruin and off they went. 

Duke had been right. In a pocket deep underneath the rubble, tucked between two sturdy walls that shielded them, a handful of people waited for rescue. One of the rescuers had uncovered a hole some ten feet or so above them. They discovered they'd been using some kid's light-up sneakers as a light source. Survivors and rescuers called to each other.

Tim immediately took point. "Go get help," he told one of the volunteers and pointed towards the firetrucks," We'll need a way to get them out of there. Signal-"

"On it." Duke already had his heavy duty flashlight out and aimed at the people down below._ 'Seven, eight, no eleven people,'_ he counted. Some were children even. "Looks like four unconcious," he stated, passing over the four prone bodies. Two of them seemed almost... tied up?

"Any bad guys down there?" he hollered. 

One of the survivors yelled up, sounding far too delighted for the situation. "All wrapped up nice and pretty for the police."

_'Ah, that explains it.'_

"Alright, we're coming down," Tim called down to them and secured a grapple line to a nearby mesh of rebar," We're going to do this one at a time. Robin," he turned to Damian," You secure the hostiles while I start getting them out of there."

Damian scoffed and might've muttered something like," Don't tell me what to do," but leaped inside the hole anyway. Tim followed after, trailing grappling line after him. 

The people here were remarkably calm, a fact Tim would be forever grateful for. He even recognized a few of them. Crime Alley locals. They of course recognized him too. "Alright, everybody here?" he glanced around. It was crowded down here as it was, but it got even worse when they crowded around him. One of the girls was even crying. 

"Menos mal, gracias Dios," she reached out as if she wanted to hug him," Es Petirrojo Rojo! Rey dice que podemos confir en él." His Spanish was a little rusty, but he _thinks_ she's happy to see him. Oh wait, he just got hugged. Yeah, she was happy to see him. 

One of the others tugged her away from him. "Yes, yes, it's Red Robin," his 'rescuer' chided the young woman," We know, Diamond."

"The filth is secure," Robin popped up at his side. There was a look of begrudging pride on his face. "They used belts."

Tim was impressed. "Alright, let's get the injured up first."

* * *

It was on his seventh trip up that he heard it. 

"Red! Red Robin, over here!"

_'That accent.'_ It was unmistakable and Tim found his head swiveling towards the sound. There was a crowd gathering on the street behind yellow police tape, people with their phones out, people who jumped in to help, and people looking for their loved ones. But the one with that accent, he couldn't see. 

"Red Robin!"

But Tim _knew_ that voice.

"Go check it out," Duke slapped the back of his hand on Tim's shoulder," We've got it handled here." Damian huffed and muttered something, but Tim was already gone, scrambling over the rubble. 

It just didn't make any sense. What was _Dimitri_ doing here? And why was he so hell bent on getting past the caution tape, even going so far as to argue with the officer posted there?

"What are you doing here?" he asked him just that upon reaching the crowd. A few other bystanders tried to get his attention, but his focus was only on Dimitri and the frantic look on his face. He's never seen that much emotion on the other man's face.

Dimitri tried to step forward but the officer blocked his path again. Almost immediately, a giant mountain of a man stepped out of the crowd and directly between Dimitri and the cop. The cop's hand fell to his holster and Tim had the mental image of a fight breaking out right here. 

"I'll take it from here," he jumped in, just before it could escalate. The officer gave him a dirty look, but couldn't say much as Tim's hand was already locked around Dimitri's wrist and dragging him past the tape line. Mountain Man made to follow and growled," _Move_," when the officer tried to stop him. 

"Stan's with us," Dimitri called back and the policeman decided it really wasn't worth fighting over. 

Stan the Mountain Man glared at him a moment longer before trailing after Dimitri and Red Robin. "_What_ are you doing here?" he hissed at the scarred man as soon as they were out of earshot," This is a disaster zone and you can't just-"

"Have you found Kinley yet?"

Tim froze midstep, hand falling from Dimitri's wrist. "What?" he blinked. 

Dimitri was almost frantic in his words," Kinley's here. She's under _there_," he pointed at the collapsed building," and I don't know if she's dead or alive and you need to help me _find_ her. She's tough but something went wrong, _really_ wrong, or else she wouldn't have called for help but then I couldn't find her and Stan said she came here and then we saw the news and-"

He was starting to hyperventilate. "Whoa! Hey," Tim reached out and grasped his shoulders with both hands," Breathe, Dimitri, _breathe_." He noticed how Dimitri's eyes kept straying past Red Robin to the ruin behind him and his entire body shook every time he did so. Tim peered at his eyes and found his pupils to be nothing more than pinpricks. 

"Help me _find_ her!" the Lithuanian yelled, then immediately quieted down when Stan also laid a big hand on his shoulder, resting over Tim's hand still there. The added weight seemed to help ground Dimitri. 

"You can't help her if you become hysterical," the big man said, then addressed Red Robin," You haven't found her?" He guessed correctly since Tim hadn't even known Kinley was in the area. 

Tim shook his head, trying to put Dimitri's continuous shuddering to the back of his mind. "We just found a handful of survivors, but Kinley wasn't among them," he said. 

Then all of a sudden, like a rock dropping in his gut, he remembered that Duke had been the first on scene. That Duke has said six bodies had already been pulled from the wreckage. Six bodies Tim hasn't seen yet. 

_'Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit.'_ Now _he_ was going to start hyperventilating. 

"-with Coco and Diamond. Have you found them?" Stan. Stan was speaking. Found them? 'Found them' who?

"Huh?" he replied so eloquently. 

"Diamond and Coco," Stan repeated with all the patience of a saint," They were with King. Diamond's young, hispanic, has a pierced eyebrow. Coco's tall, dark skin, purple hair, wearing a gold sequined top."

Now those descriptions Tim knew, for he'd just seen them. 

"I saw them," he breathed, his eyes lighting up," I just saw them!" Letting go of Dimitri, he turned to look back at where they'd pulled people up from the hole. When he had gone down in there, a young woman had hugged him; a hispanic girl with piercings. 

It looked like Duke and Damian had finished up there and moved onto searching a new section. The survivors, Tim knew, would be taken to the EMS's. Without a word to either Dimitri or Stan, he headed over that way. The two quickly followed after him. 

There were five ambulances in total, more coming and going as they rushed those in critical care to the hospital. It was chaos and the thought of searching through it seemed impossible. Tim hadn't needed to worry though, for Stan stood easily a foot over the crowd and could be seen from almost anywhere. In the end, Coco found _them_. 

"You're here!" A tall woman appeared behind them, latching onto Stan with all the might of an octopus. Diamond was soon after her, hugging him around the middle like a child and crying in Spanish. Stan, for his part, looked equal amounts annoyed and relieved. With no idea how to actually react, he just wrapped his arms around both girls in a hug. 

Then Diamond saw Tim again. "Petirrojo Rojo!" And oh look there, she was hugging him again...

It took both Tim and Coco to get her off him this time. "Sorry," Coco apologized, turning Diamond so she could latch onto Dimitri instead (who responded with a squawk)," She's a fan."

Tim almost smiled. Almost. "I noticed." Still, not everyday a civilian hugs him in his Red Robin suit. It kinda felt nice to be appreciated so much. 

"Coco," Dimitri called out, at this point ignoring Diamond's form hanging off his arm," Where's Kinley?"

And just like that, the good feeling was gone.

* * *

Twelve bodies so far. Duke had said six, but more... more had to have been found since then. That made twelve dead and fifteen alive. Dimitri and the others were searching the living, staking out the ambulances and hoping Kinley was in one of them. Tim didn't tell any of them, but he went to search... the not-living.

He slipped away when they were preoccupied by Dimitri grilling Coco for information, making for a quiet corner behind the fire tankers. It was a good location, for now. Hidden from prying eyes until they could be taken care of later, and covered with the standard sheets found in all emergency vehicles. There wasn't anyone around at the moment and he preferred that. This would... this was going to be hard enough as it was. 

_'Please let me be wrong,'_ Tim silently pleaded. There was a vice around his heart, squeezing squeezing squeezing, as he lifted the first sheet. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do YOU think happened?


	35. Real Hasta La Muerte

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Free Clinic goes to Hell in an elevator and Kinley's along for the ride

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You remember that 'Graphic Depictions of Violence' warning?  
Oh yeah... We're gonna EARN that tag.

**{10:33AM}**

Kinley arrived first, giving herself time to familiarize herself with the building. This was her first time in the free clinic, but had passed by it on her walks. Inside was decent, more so than she expected of a non-profit in the poorest part of town. The well-lit lobby and fully staffed registration desk told her it was well funded too. By who, she didn't know. 

She waited outside until they arrived, standing on the front step like one of the gargoyles on the buildings high above. When the light blue Honda pulled up, Coco was the first to step out of the back seat with a," Thanks fellas." There was the customary grin and wave for Kinley, who remained standing on the steps. Then Coco's attention was focused on the other passenger in the back seat.

Diamond was young, shy, and Coco's newest find. She didn't work for Coco, per se, but the trans woman somehow made a deal with Stan for Diamond to work at the bar and not the stage. Kinley hadn't known the full story until last night, but she'd known that Coco liked to take other working girls under her wing. While Kinley didn't exactly approve of their job, she understood it wasn't her place to stop them. What she did approve of however, was the way Coco looked after all the girls who worked at the CASKet. Not many in Park Row had bosses that well and truly cared for them. 

Diamond came from a man who did not. As such, she was skittish, distrusting, and deathly afraid of him coming after her. But she was young -too young- and Coco was bound and determined to get her a proper job working behind the bar with Stabby. 

And to do that, she needed a clean bill of health. With her fears, she refused to get a checkup without both Coco and Kinley present. Coco because she was big and sassy and fearless. Kinley because she was King, and she enjoyed terrorizing men who preyed on women. (Coco had fun telling the girls to spread that rumor too. Not that it _was_ just a rumor. After Kinley smashed yet another guy's face into the bar, Stan gave up on kicking her out and just told her to clean up any mess she made.)

"Él esta adentro?" Diamond asked nervously, sticking to Coco's side and clinging onto the taller woman's arm like a lifeline," Él sabe todo, él debe saber que estoy aquí."

Spanish was a lost cause for Kinley, but it was similar enough to Italian she could understand what Diamond was saying. "Already checked the building, he's not here," she assured the young girl," But if he _does_ show up..." She smiled, hopefully and wicked. 

"There's our vicious King," Coco laughed," Just do it somewhere I can watch, darling."

* * *

Dr. Thompkins was polite, professional, and had no time for nonsense. So when Diamond asked if her friends could come back with her, Dr. Thompkins took one look at the two of them and said," Only one."

So that's how Kinley found herself sitting in a clinic exam room, trying to explain to a nervous teenager what to expect. It's also how she learned that Diamond's name was actually Daniela. And she's never been to the doctor's before. 

"Do you remember ever getting your vaccines?" she asked, still waiting on the doctor. 

"The shots?"

"Yeah, the shots."

"Umm, when I was a baby? I remember Mama saying it once. She said they were expensive."

For a family well below the poverty line, they _were_ expensive. But this was a free clinic, and if there were any sort of bill after this day, Kinley already decided she would take care of it. (She just hadn't gotten around to telling Coco or Daniela that yet.)

"Alright, so you'll have to catch up on your vaccines then. Better to be safe than sorry."

Daniela's eyes went wide. "Todos hoy?"

"Umm," Kinley paused a moment, she didn't know those words," What?"

Her eyes were still wide," All of them? Today?"

_'Oh!'_ "No, not all today," she reassured," Maybe a few at a time, but they have to be spread out over months."

"Oh..."

* * *

It kind of scared Kinley how much trust and faith Daniela put in her. For all intents and purposes, she had only known her for all of two days. Only met her twice before today. One of those times was her being subjected to the sight of Kinley pulling a knife and holding it under a man's chin and threatening to "hang his head on the wall like a prize if he ever tried to grab her crotch again."

(The man had practically run out of the bar that night, followed by the sound of the pool gang's laughter)

"We can start with your tetanus booster today, then set up a plan for you to get the rest of your vaccinations," Dr. Thompkins was telling her," Are you feeling like you're up for a pelvic exam today as well?" Daniela looked to Kinley for reassurance, like she had for every question she's been asked so far.

Kinley almost would've sighed if it wasn't so cute. "It's a normal thing to do," she told her," A lot of women get them every year."

Daniela's brows pinched together. "Pero..." she bit the inside of her cheek," Qué es..." She thought a moment on the word," Pelvic?"

Ah, she didn't know what pelvic meant. Kinley responded by pressing an open hand low on her own stomach," A woman's exam. Especially needs to be done if you've had sex."

Daniela's face scrunched up a little bit as she thought, her own hand drifting low to her own stomach. Then she looked to Kinley, who knew the answer before she even asked," Will you stay with me?"

"Of course."

And the check up continued. Dr. Thompkins, a kind woman, could obviously see that Daniela was very unsure about everything, so she talked her through every step. Kinley's medical knowledge was third-hand at best (Macie's the doctor in the family) but she did her best to confirm everything that's being said to put Daniela at ease. During this exam, Kinley and the doctor learned some surprising things. 

Daniela was half deaf in her left ear ("It happens when someone's boxed in the ear too many times," Thompkins told them.) and at one point she had been pregnant. ("I lost it," she said quietly and refused to speak more of it) Kinley silently made plans to talk with her more about that one later. 

It was when Daniela was getting her booster shot that it happened.

"-down on the ground!"

And just like that, there was screaming coming from outside the room and men shouting; she was sad to say by now it was all very familiar. On instinct, as always, Kinley crouched low._ 'Motherfucker!'_ she very nearly swore out loud. _'A clinic? Really?! Is nowhere sacred in Gotham?!'_

Then she noticed the noise was coming purely from the front lobby. No one in the back yet, no one made it to the exam rooms yet. They had time; precious few seconds, but time. 

_'Run. Hide. Fight.'_ These are the rules she once learned working in another hospital setting when it came to active shooter situations. Rules she'll never listen to, but Daniela better fucking follow them. 

Said girl was near hysterical, biting her own hand just to keep from screaming. The nurse who had been administering the shot was frozen in fear, still holding the full syringe aloft. Kinley snapped her fingers in front of her face. 

"Is there a back way out of here?" she demanded. 

"What?" the nurse blinked at her," Uh, yes. Yeah, there is." A moment later, Kinley was pulling her and Daniela to their feet. 

_'Good,'_ she thought and opened the door a crack. A quick glance out ensured there was no one waiting in the hallway, but she could still hear gunshots and shouting from the front lobby. With no time to waste, she pulled the other two out of the room and they started running down the hall. 

"But Coco-" Daniela almost tugged at the grip on her arm, but Kinley was stronger.

"_Run_," Kinley ordered, teeth gritted and eyes fierce, and Daniela didn't fight her after that.

Kinley took point, one hand wrapped firmly around Daniela's wrist and dragging her along, and the other-

"Where'd you get a _gun_?" the nurse gasped when she saw Kinley draw a Taurus PT1911 from a holster hidden behind her leather jacket. The black coat was slim and fitting, but the Taurus was small and the holster designed to be concealed. Kinley took a moment just enough to draw the barrel back before grabbing Daniela's hand again. 

"This is Gotham," she said, annoyed that she even had to explain this to a nurse who worked in Crime Alley," Are you honestly surprised?" That and well, she took Dorito Chip's advice into account. (She made a mental note to thank him when this was all over)

They could still hear shouting from the front lobby, but the farther they traveled back into the clinic, the more muffled they became. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Kinley took note of the layout -simple, square plan- and aimed for the exit signs. They moved fast and quiet, Daniela in the middle and Kinley peering around every corner before moving on. These back halls were empty - a worrying thought- and dimply she wondered where everyone was.

Had they rounded up all the-

-she turned a corner and saw legs covered in blue scrubs peeking around from behind a desk. The spray of bullet holes in the wall behind the desk told her all she needed to know. "Close your eyes, Daniela," Kinley hissed and moved the two past the desk as quickly as she dared. 

The nurse made an aborted little gasping sound as they passed, but didn't say a word. 

At the end of the hallway, with the red handle and the little sign that warned alarms would go off when exiting, the metal door was a blessing. There was little Kinley could do about the alarm, but if she was lucky it would send an automatic message to the fire station or something like that. (Not that she got her hopes up for that)

"Run as fast as you can, and call 911 first chance you get," she instructed Daniela and the nurse. Daniela was still shaking, but the nurse was nodding in agreement. Kinley holstered her gun so she could use both hands to wipe the tears from Daniela's face. "Don't stop, okay?" she told her," We'll be fine."

"You're not coming with?" the nurse asked. 

Kinley just shot her a look and pressed on the door handle. A shrill alarm sounded, but the door opened without any delay. Kinley swung the door open and made to drag Daniela out it when she suddenly found herself looking barrel-down into a carbine .45.

"Well, guess Boss was right," a voice spoke from behind the rifle," Someone _did_ try to get out from the back exit."

_'Motherfucker.'_

* * *

**{12:10PM}**

"Now if you all sit there, nice and quiet-like, this'll all be over before you know it," the tall one strutted between them with his rifle," Don't want anyone goin' home in a bodybag, do we?" Even with the mask on, the smile was so clear in his voice.

Kinley bit her tongue to stop herself from saying something cheeky like,_' I'd be okay if **you** ended up in a bodybag.'_ She didn't, not really, but he was definitely pretty low on her list of tolerated humans. She might be okay if he was brutally maimed however...

Another one, the one who frog marched them back to the lobby, held up a canvas bag," Alright, everyone's phones out! Put 'em in the bag!" He was fairly efficient, she had to give him that, as he walked down the line of hostages collecting cell phones. Cruel too, she added, when he whacked one man in the face for not giving up a phone. It took much pleading on his part and his friends before the man believed he didn't have one. 

_'Shit.'_ There went her plan. Time for a new one. 

"Ex," she whispered, clutching her phone in her pocket and hoping to all that was holy the men didn't hear her," Do you remember how I taught you to dial numbers?"

The men didn't hear her, but Coco sure did. To Kinley's right, she went stock still. "King..." she side eyed her," What are you...?" But she wasn't the one Kinley was speaking to, so she was largely ignored. 

"Do you remember?" she whispered. 

Her phone vibrated once against her palm.

Kinley smiled. _'Good boy.'_

* * *

Adrenaline. Fear. Anger. Terror. Hate. Desire. Greed. Disgust.

So many emotions filling the room, the building. So many people, so many feelings, so many voices shouting inside. 

Anticipation. Rage. Sadness. Pain. Anger. Anger. Fear. _Fear_. **Fear**. 

So many. So many._ Too many._

_'Focus on me,'_ the sweet voice cut through all the emotions, cut like a knife, cut like a stream of water on fire, not enough to dissipate but enough to be heard,' _Focus **only** on me.'_

Excitement. Horror. Terror. Desire. Adrenaline. Anger. 

Ex -that's his name, isn't it? It's hard to remember when he can barely remember what the _word_ 'remember' means- feels like he's spinning in circles. Songs, words, notes, and tunes spin all around him, an endless list of them to play. He feels like he's pushing play on all of them at the same time. A cacophony of music to match the tangle of emotions filling his space. 

He wonders if the others can hear it too, or if the headphones are plugged in. He wonders if he should turn the volume up. 

Fear. Hate. Greed. Sadness. Anger. 

"Ex, do you remember how I taught you to dial numbers?" 

He hears that. He _hears_ that. Hears it, doesn't feel it. She's talking to him, isn't she? The one that's always telling him,_' Focus on me. Focus **only** on me.'_ That's her voice. That's her talking. 

_'Focus on me,'_ she always says.

So Ex focuses. 

Terror. Pain. Anger. Exhaustion. Impatience. Fear.

He focuses harder. 

Adrenaline. Anger. Concern. Love. Love. _Love_.

There she is. Sharp and crystal clear, his anchor. The chaos around him fades away, the cacophony quieting to a stop until he feels only her. 

Excitement. Rage. Anger. Concern. Love. Always Love. 

He knows this mixture of emotions. Someone got hurt and she's pissed. She's on the warpath and the gods help anyone who stands in her way. Ex likes this mix. He likes the thrum it gives him. The buzzing feeling.

Ex likes _feeling_.

He looks for a song to match it. 

"Do you remember, Ex?"

He stops. Remember? Oh yeah! Remember how to dial numbers! He _does_ remember. It was not too long ago -or _was_ it a long time ago?- that she taught him. He didn't like it. He doesn't like numbers, he likes music. 

But he learns it. He learns the numbers and what he can do with them. He learns to make 'phone calls'. He learns two words. 'Help' and her name.

His anchor is on the warpath and has asked for his help. This is something he can do. He hums in affirmative. 

Pride. Joy. Relief. Love. 

Ex likes this mix too.

* * *

Coco was already giving her looks, but thankfully no one else so far._ 'In for a penny, in for a pound,'_ she thought to herself and looked directly at her friend. "Cover for me," she whispered," Pretend I'm talking to you."

Then before Coco can so much as ask," What?" Kinley gave her instructions to Ex. "Wait five minutes, Ex, then call 911. Code SOS."

Coco looked at her as if she were speaking gibberish. Considering the context she was given, she probably was. But at this point in time, Kinley's not worried about her confusion. "Get that, Ex?" she hummed, careful not to move her lips. 

She waited for the confirmation.

"Phones in the bag, c'mon now!"

The side eye Coco was still giving her was bordering on distrustful, but she couldn't say anything when the man came around with the canvas bag. So intent she was on trying to silently pull an answer from Kinley that she nearly missed the bag putting her phone in. 

With a smile meant for her friend, Kinley held up her own phone, wrapped up in a pair of headphones. 

"Get all that?" she hummed again.

The phone vibrated in her hand and Coco could've _sworn_ she saw the screen flash green. "Got all what?" the man growled at her and grabbed her hand violently. Kinley scowled at the way he bent her fingers back to pry the phone out. "Did you make a phone call?" he snarled when he saw the green on the screen.

The rest of the armed men glanced up when he yelled at her and aimed his gun at her her head," Did you fuckin' _call_ someone?!" A few aborted screams scattered over the hostages and out of the corner of her eye, Kinley saw a nurse shield Daniela's eyes. Coco bit the back of her fingers with a terrified expression on her face. 

"It's my music," Kinley spoke, sounding far far _far_ more calm than she felt at that moment. 

He ripped the cord out of the jack. 

**-like Ali, knocking out bodies**   
**Standing on top like a champion**   
**Keep your silver, gimme that gold**

The Score blasted over the otherwise hushed lobby, volume set to loud as fuck. "Oi!" another masked man yelled across the lobby," Turn that shit off, man!"

Shotgun Sally fumbled with the phone for a second, but eventually located the volume button. No doubt the music continued playing, but at least they couldn't hear it.

He sneered at Kinley as he dropped it in the bag. She returned it with a blank stare of her own. The very same one that challenged,' Try me. You will not win.'

He moved on. 

Once he's a few people down the line, a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding escaped her in a short breath. Kinley sucked it back in. _'Fuck fuck fuckity fuck, I almost died **again**!'_

The only consolation she had was the comforting weight of the Taurus hidden deep under her jacket. They hadn't thought to search her, and the slim fit of the holster along her hipline guaranteed it was difficult to see through her jacket. 

Coco, damn her, didn't give her a chance for a second breath. "What the _fuck_, King?" she hissed angrily but quiet," What the fresh hell was _that_? Did you just give an order to your phone? And did it answer _back_? Because it sure as hell looked like it answered back."

Her whispering was starting to get attention, the wrong kind, as someone with a gun shouted at them. Coco shot him a dirty look but quieted down. Her angry eyes demanded answers from Kinley. 

_'I wonder if she'll accept the A.I. excuse?'_ she wondered,'_ Say it's Jarvis and call it good?'_ But no... Coco entrusted her with her secret of being a meta. Kinley owed her enough to at least be honest about one of her own._ 'Later,'_ she mouthed to her. Later, when she's had a chance to decide what to say. Later, when she decides just how much to tell her. 

Coco gave her a look that promised retribution should she not come through on her word. 


	36. It's Always Trouble When They Go Too Far

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ride to Hell continues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: multiple character death in this chapter, with graphic description of death and bodies

**{1:32PM}**

One hour, one fucking hour. A little over an hour, actually. And Kinley had yet to hear one single siren outside. No reaction from their captors, nothing other than the usual "Sit down, shut up, and nobody move!" Grumpily, she shuffled in her spot on the floor, one hand picking at the ziptie around her wrist. She glanced at the clock again. 1:33PM. By her estimation, Ex should've made the call at 12:20ish.

Nobody was coming.

"Coco," Kinley whispered," I need a distraction."

The glare Coco gave her was particularly mean-mugged. "I _promise_ to give you an explanation when this is all over," Kinley vowed.

Coco glared at her some more. "Fully commit to the King persona and I will," she bargained. 

_'Fully commit to the-'_ "Are you fucking insane?" Kinley hissed at her. 

The resulting shrug she got from her friend was borderline nonchalant. "I'm not asking you to be the new Red Hood," she whispered," But you gotta be a little more active on the streets darling."

Kinley grumbled a little bit. "I'm still not wearing a fucking mask."

"Dye your hair," Coco suggested. 

Kinely couldn't believe they were having this discussion._ 'Batshit insane,'_ she thought,_' And it's contagious too because I'm seriously contemplating it!'_ It wouldn't be a stretch. Kinley dyed her hair all the time. Brown was just her natural hue, but she's been a redhead and a blonde before, sometimes even dying it dark enough to be black. But in the name of hiding her identity for some stupid cryptid nonsense?

(Tariq would think it the coolest thing ever...)

_'Damnit,'_ she growled in her throat; the realization that Tariq would love it was the final nail in the coffin. Oh well, she's been called many things. King, the crypid of Crime Alley, would just have to be another. 

"Fine," she nodded sourly and Coco smiled brilliantly," Now give me a damn distraction."

Without further ado, Coco leaned over and whispered in a nurse's ear," King needs a distraction, pass it on."

There was brief moment of confusion then awed realization on the nurse's face, her entire expression lighting up. She stared at Coco in wonder, then leaned over and whispered to the person next to her. 

About 4 people in, an elderly woman with a cane started coughing violently and loudly. It sounded fake and overly theatric, but it drew the attention of the man guarding them. He stared at the old woman, but didn't say anything. 

Another person started rocking back and forth and 'accidentally' knocked over a little stand holding a bunch of brochures. The noise was almost unbearably loud in the lobby. "Hey!" the man yelled at them.

"Oh shit!" Coco suddenly yelled out," Where's my insulin bag?! Has anyone seen my insulin?!"

"Shut up!" the guard yelled," You don't need your stupid insulin!"

"Is this it over here?" another hostage yelled from the other side of the lobby, holding up what looked to be a black purse. It was _clearly_ not an insulin bag.

"Umm..." a young woman held up her tied hands in some sort of semblence of raising her hand," Could I get an escort to the restroom?"

"You can hold it!"

"It's period blood," she snapped sassily at him," I can't exactly 'hold it'."

Even with a mask on, the guy's expression of horror was obvious. 

As multiple other people spoke up -with the little old lady still coughing away- Kinley had to supress the urge to laugh. It was just... such delightfully contained chaos. It was fantastic. 

When the man stalked over to the old lady (probably to decide if she was coughing up a lung or not) Kinley moved the instant his back was turned. The zip tie snapped effortlessly from her wrists (which she took with her, don't need him seeing it lying on the floor) and she rolled away behind the receptionist desk. From there, as long as she stayed low, the desk provided enough cover for her to slip out of the lobby and back into the exam rooms.

Kinley moved low and fast down the hall until she could no longer hear the cacophony of voices in the lobby. Her head was practically a swivel, her eyes sharp, and her pistol held firmly in her hand. 

All the phone cords had been cut. She quickly discovered that when she picked up a reciever in the nurses' station. Not even a dial-tone, then she followed the cord and found it neatly sliced. These guys were smart. 

_'But not quiet,'_ she mused. They were loud. Very loud. Blocking all exits, taking all the phones, and cutting the phone cords were all marks of a smart robber. It ensured no outside communication so they could work in relative peace. But then they didn't use suppressors, they hit in the middle of the day when it was busiest, and they separated the highest titled person in the building.

It had all the hallmarks of a terrorist attack. 

And that's why she dreaded what their plan was for Dr. Thompkins. She was the face of the Free Clinic; everybody either knew her or knew of her. Her death would get attention. And would mean the loss of one of Gotham's best.

She wandered past the nurses' station, keeping eyes and ears alert for any of the men.

In the next hallway, she stumbled across a blue scrub clad body again. This time, Kinley didn't have the luxury of moving fast, and so was cursed to see the woman and what was left of her. It was... messy, and while her scrubs might have once been blue, her torso was a horrifying mix of blue, red, and, purple. Her eyes were open and staring straight up at the ceiling. 

Kinley knelt down next to the body, and one hand reached out to gently close her eyes. Her hair was brown, and she had wrinkles around her eyes, she noticed, and her name tag said 'Ellie'. 

"Et, cum recesserit anima, in tete refugimus. Ita, quicquid tribuis, in te cuncta recidunt," she whispered before moving on. 

"-go any faster?"

Kinley slowed her steps when she heard voices. Male, angry, definitely belonging to a bad guy. 

"It's not like I can type faster and get results faster," another one snarked back," This programming is older than my mother." Crouched low, Kinley paused in the hallway and tried to determine which room they were in. She was in a long hallway of doors, exam rooms and offices. Many of them were opened, having been busted open when the men first struck. There was no lookout posted outside any of the doors now, which was both good and bad. 

Were they that confident no one would come down this hallway?

There was some typing, some shuffling noises, then some quiet cursing. 

"What?"

"_It's still searching._ My dead grandmother moves faster than this!"

A snort of a chuckle was his reply. 

Kinley found it odd that none of them had accents. Well, accents other than the typical Gotham one. These guys were local. And they were searching for something, which did not line up with her terrorist theory. 

_'Think, think, think,'_ she sang in her head, looking around for something, anything to help her. They had to be in one of the offices. But she couldn't risk just sticking her head in to look around. 

"Oi, bitch. Where's the files?" the first one, with the temper, called out. 

"Right there," came Dr. Thompkins' voice," That's my office computer you're rooting through; any files I have would be on there or our Share Drive."

There was a dull thud sound, followed by Thompkins' pained gasp. "Don't get smart with us, Doc," the angry one growled at her," I know you got funding for this fancy ass clinic, but you ain't _that_ fancy. Where's your paper files?"

"You really think they still keep paper files?" the second one sounded doubtful.

Dr. Thompkins didn't answer right away, a tense pause following the demand. _'Just fucking tell them,'_ Kinley pleaded silently,_' HIPAA is not worth your life.'_ Then to her relief, the doctor seemed to understand the importance of not trying to be a hero. "Medical Records is down the hall," she said, louder than strictly necessary," Labeled as Conference Room 3."

Kinley was off before the men could say anything in reply. She needed to get to that room _first_. As she sped down the hallway, her sneakers making nearly silent thuds on the carpeted floor, she read the door signs in search of Conference Rm 3. Misnaming the room was genius. What a simple yet effective way to lead trespassers away from sensitive information. 

Now what information the men were after was anyone's guess. 

Conference Rm 3 was one door down from the supply room and fortunately unlocked. (They might notice the broken door if she'd had to kick it down) Which was fortunate, for as soon as she slipped in past the doorway, Kinley heard voices spill over into the hallway. 

There wasn't much in the room, just a table with chairs around it and shelves upon shelves of books. No, not books; _binders_. But the room was small, much smaller than she'd like and no hiding spots. 

Kinley looked at the ceiling above the bookcase. Well, maybe one hiding spot...

* * *

**August, 2015**   
**NYC**

Dimitri was by no account a large man, but he was not small in stature. The first time Kinley met him, one of the first things she noticed was how she had to tilt her head back to look him in the eye. 

Now she had to tilt her head forward to look at him. Dimitri was not small, but the bed and bandages made him look so. He wouldn't even turn his head to look back at her. "You hesitated," he said to the closed window. 

Kinley knew what he meant. "Yes."

"What would've happened if you hadn't?"

She did not like what-ifs. Only because she spent years upon years thinking of them _constantly_. But she was no clairvoyant and could not tell nor see the future. "I don't know," she answered truthfully and shuffled awkwardly in the visitor's chair. 

"Would this have happened to me if you hadn't?" he asked. 

_'You never should've been there in the first place.'_ "Probably not."

This time, he looked at her. A gasp froze itself in her throat; his eyes were so blank, so dull, so _lifeless_. "Next time," he croaked," Don't hesitate."

* * *

**October 27th, 2020**   
**Gotham City**

Leslie Thompkins was the first to enter the room, hands tied in front of her and white lab coat askew. Through the crack in the ceiling tiles, Kinley could see only one guy walk in after her, gun in hand. 

The door shut behind him. 

Her breaths came in slow and deep, mouth open and throat relaxed. She watched as the man pushed past the doctor and started going through the binders, one hand running along the stems to find whatever he was looking for. Briefly, Kinley considered letting him find what he was looking for. But the doctor's face was bloody and swollen and Kinley had _promised_.

She would not hesitate again. 

The ceiling tile made a slight noise as she moved it out of the way and the man's head popped up in alarm. But by the time his gaze turned upwards towards her, hiding in the ceiling like one of Gotham's local caped kind, she already had her sights lined up. 

**BANG! **

She pulled the trigger and Dr. Thompkins let out a startled aborted shriek. 

There were no suppressors, and the body fell to the ground with a thud that sounded so loud in the small room, but the ceiling and the closed door absorbed the sound for the most part. The carpet would have to take the blood. 

She missed the center of his forehead and Kinley wanted to blame the gun and not her shaking hands. But she couldn't. She really couldn't. It was only a 9mm, but it did its job and it didn't recoil. Still it felt heavy in her hands, heavier than it had before as she jumped down to the floor. 

The first thing she took note of was the red splatter on the table and two of the chairs. Another puddle of red was growing on the carpet, spreading slowly from under the chair and the large form on top of it. She had missed the center of his forehead; it went through his eye. He... the body laid sprawled on the floor, the one remaining eye staring up at the ceiling and she wanted to pretend that expression of shock on his face wasn't from having literally stared down his own death. 

His other eye was nothing but an empty, red hole. 

Logically, Kinley knew what the backside of his head would look like, but she couldn't bring herself to look. One day... one day she'd be able to face her actions and their consequences, but not yet. Not yet, she decided. Not yet and not literally. 

"You're not- who are you?" Dr. Thompkins stammered, pressed up against the wall on the other side of the room and shaking like a leaf. Her eyes were wide and fearful, staring at Kinley like... well, like she just watched her kill a man. 

Kinley took a deep breath. _'Rule Number One,'_ she reminded herself, and turned. Facing Dr. Thompkins was a lot easier to face. "My name is Kinley," she told her, working on cutting the duct tape around her wrists," I'm going to get you out of here."

Thompkins stared up at her," You... you're Daniela's friend. But how? You were taken hostage with the rest of us."

The smile Kinley flashed her was small, quick, and nowhere near genuine. "I had a distraction." At the end of all this, she would owe Coco and the others one huge favor. "I've tried contacting the police but no dice. Any ideas?"

"No, they cut all the phone cords and took everyone's cells. And we don't have any panic buttons." The doctor rubbed her wrists once they were free. After her initial reaction, she was taking this _remarkably_ well, Kinley thought. "So what's the plan?" she asked," Do you have backup coming?"

Kinley's expression was apologetic. "I told you I tried calling police."

Yet for some reason, Thompkins looked confused. "But I thought you-" she paused, rethinking her assumption then shook her head," What are we going to do?"

Kinley thought a moment. "How many are left in your office?"

* * *

Just when Dave was starting to wonder what happened to Steppan and if the doctor was giving him any trouble, the door to the office opened. It opened softly and quietly, in no particular hurry and he didn't bother looking up from the computer. _'Almost there, almost got it,'_ he hummed to himself, seeing medical records flash across the screen. What he was searching for wasn't popping out to him right now, but once he had time to look at them later, when he had more time he could-

"Oi, what the-?" Eric started saying. 

**BANG! BANG! BANG!**

Three gunshots, quick and precise, rang out in the office. Dave's head shot up just in time to see Eric fall back into the wall, eyes wide and hand going limp as three bullets pierced his heart. 

"What the fuck?!" he ducked down behind the computer. 

On the other side of the room, Alton opened fire on the door, his semi-auto wreaking havoc on the doorway and the walls around it. But from behind the desk, where Dave was kneeling down close to the floor, he could see Alton was aiming too high. 

She was laying on the floor, with just her torso visible in the door; a woman -hair dark and eyes like stone- angled her little pistol upwards and...

**BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!**

...fired four shots directly into Alton's chest. 

After the deafening loudness of the gunfire, the office fell silent but the ringing continued in his ear. 

_'Not a Bat, not a Bat,'_ was all he could think. Batman and his crew don't use guns, everyone knew that. None of the capes used guns except for-

_'No, it's a woman,'_ he reminded himself, even as Dave watched the woman glance around the room,' _It's not... No way it's can be...'_ . Her eyes landed on him and he scrambled for the pistol laying on the desk. 

**BANG! BANG!**

Two more shots rang out, one of them skidding across the metal desk. The other pierced his right shoulder. "Fuck!" Dave swore and ducked back behind the desk. _'Definitely not the Red Hood, but **fuck**!'_ he cursed in his mind. This was supposed to be a quick job. There wasn't supposed to be some batshit crazy chick with a gun!

Out in the hallway, another voice yelled," King!" followed by a crashing sound. Dave bit his tongue so hard he tasted blood._ 'Fuck, it's King.'_ He didn't know it was a woman. King was supposedly a wannabe Red Hood, the mafia's newest hit man, Crime Alley's newest psychotic that went after anyone who dared cross him in the dark. 

There was more gunfire, he heard Nate yelling (he must've heard everything while walking around the offices), then some meaty thud sounds. There was a grunt of pain, a strangled wheezing sound, and if Dave hadn't tried so hard to block out the sound, he might've heard the sound of a bone snapping. 

As it was, he still heard the sound of a body hitting the floor. 

"Just one left," the woman spoke lowly. She was panting, either from exertion or anger, and while Dave could _sense_ her entering the room he couldn't _hear_ her footsteps. He reached for the pistol with his left hand (his non dominant hand but at this point he's willing to fucking _try_!) but then the entire metal desk was upturned. 

The computer went flying, crashed into the wall, and the monitor went dark. Dave's hard drive was ripped out in the force and smashed underneath the weight of the heavy desk. Dave barely missed getting hit in the head with a heavy paperweight, scrambling backwards out of King's reach. 

She stood over him, one hand balancing the heavy metal desk on its corner and the other on her hip. 

Dave's first thought was_,' King looks a hell lot like Wonder Woman.'_ Then she spoke, and he heard her accent and he couldn't help it; he started laughing. _'Of fucking course.'_

* * *

"Surrender now and I won't have to kill you too," she said. Her stomach roiled at the reminder of what she'd just done, but pressed it down for a later time. _'Rule Number One,'_ Kinley reminded herself. She promised to never hesitate again and she held true to her word. New York was lesson enough.

The man was the last of them, the one hiding behind the desk. He fled at the damage she wrought, his arm was bleeding heavily, and yet still he laughed at her, a bitter triumphant sound. "You think you've won?" he asked. 

Kinley frowned; why was he still laughing? "I know _you_ haven't," she retorted and set the desk down.

It was over. Yes, there were still two more in the building, with the hostages, but from whatever amount there were before, they were the only ones left. They had no advantages; their search was over, and they wouldn't have able to find whatever they were looking for. 

The smashed computer attested to that. 

Yet he still smiled at her, teeth bloody and red. "Alea iacta est." His hand twitched, his fingers opening to reveal... something. At first glance, it looked like a flashdrive. Then she saw the button.

"Cazz-"

He pushed the button.

**Beep beep beep beep beep beep!** The duffel bag in the corner started an ominous beeping sound. Her eyes darted around the room, landing first on Dr. Thompkins and the terrified look on her face. 

The man was laughing. And the sound sped up.

**Beepbeepbeepbeep** \- Kinley reached for the doctor-** beepbeepbee-**

**BOOM!**

* * *

_("You're always so sure of what you are..." he smiled at her, a smile that once upon a time she loved, before his sword pierced her gut and her dagger pierced his chest,"...that you never question what you **could** be.")_

_ ("What-?"_   
_"Don't say it man, don't-"_   
_"What **are** you?"_   
_"...You said it."_   
_She glanced at him out the corner of her eye," I am whatever you need me to be.") _

_("Was that all real?" Dimitri asked quietly, in the dark of a collapsed building," Not just the... not just today but... everything before? Did all that really happen? Are you really...?"_   
_"...Yes.")_

_("I fell in love with Kinley Battaglia. Not... whatever you are," he gestured to all of her, white dress and all," I didn't sign up for this. **No one** signs up for this!")_

_("That would require both of us to be human," the text cut through her just as sharp as any knife.)_

_("Tell me..." Red Robin practically sneered at her, his face full of judgement and distrust,"...if you asked for my head, how many Battaglias would be falling over themselves to get it?)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited to include translations.  
Et, cum recesserit anima, in tete refugimus. Ita, quicquid tribuis, in te cuncta recidunt: (Latin) (Part of an ancient prayer) And when the soul, the self impeded. In this way, whatever You (Gaea) give, in You all will be returned.
> 
> Alea iacta est: (Latin) The die has been cast.


	37. Rule Number One

Twelve bodies so far. Duke had said six, but more... more had to have been found since then. That made twelve dead and fifteen alive. Dimitri and the others were searching the living, staking out the ambulances and hoping Kinley was in one of them. Tim didn't tell any of them, but he went to search... the not-living.

He slipped away when they were preoccupied by Dimitri grilling Coco for information, making for a quiet corner behind the fire tankers. It was a good location, for now. Hidden from prying eyes until they could be taken care of later, and covered with the standard sheets found in all emergency vehicles. There wasn't anyone around at the moment and he preferred that. This would... this was going to be hard enough as it was. 

_'Please let me be wrong,'_ Tim silently pleaded. There was a vice around his heart, squeezing squeezing squeezing, as he lifted the first sheet. 

He stared down at the first one. 1) Male, middle aged, covered in smoke and dust and burns. Probably died in the fire. 

Tim moved onto the next one. 

2) Male, middle aged, skull caved in and pieces of rock still sticking out from the mess left within.

It wasn't the first time Tim's seen gore, but it was bloody and messy and he suddenly tasted something sour in the back of his throat. As soon as he determine it wasn't Kinley, he dropped the sheet. 

Tim took a few deep breaths, bracing himself to continue. He had to keep going, he _had_ to. If Kinley was... if she was under one of these sheets, he had to know. He had to know and he had to tell her friends and he had to live with the fact that-

Sucking in a breath, he lifted the next sheet. 

3) Female, 40's or 50's, multiple gunshot wounds to the chest. Her scrubs had once been blue, but the combination of dried blood and dust turned them a mottled grey color. 

4) Male, 20's and young, in near pristine condition that made Tim wonder if he died of asphyxiation

5) Another gun victim. Male, 20's or 30's, with a hole -dark and empty- where his left eye used to be. His head was turned to the side, so Tim had a clear view of the part where the back of his skull had been blown off. The hole was small and the edges ragged, and the hair matted down with blood and dirt. There wasn't... there wasn't much left inside and to Tim it almost had a hollow look to it. Bile rose up in his throat but he pressed it down. 

6) Another nurse, this one male, with two bullet wounds to the chest. 

7) An elderly gentleman, no distinguishing mark of death but he looked old and frail.

8) Male, middle aged, bullet wounds straight to his heart, a tight cluster.

Each sheet got harder and harder to lift, the feeling of dread only building with every body he checked. He didn't dare hope, didn't want to give himself that last chance, only to feel it all fall apart around him. But even so, all he could pray-hope-_wish_ was that he hadn't lost another friend. 

9) Female, elderly, chest caved in. Probably from the building falling on top of her...

10) Male, middle aged, a cluster of gunshots to the heart. 

11) Male, young and fit, and that-

Tim grimaced. _That_ was a broken neck. 

He knelt before the last one. 11 out of 12, just one more. With bated breath, he lifted the last sheet. 

The body was burned beyond recognition, the face entirely black. Whoever this was, they were most likely at the center of the explosion. Tim wouldn't be able to determine who this was by face alone. So he lifted the sheet higher, trying to determine- well, anything. It was lucky that whoever this was, they wore a black faux-leather jacket, nice and flame-resistant. Tim peeled back the fabric and-

12) Male, with a large wolf tattoo on his chest.

All the air in Tim's lung was released in one large sigh. Kinley wasn't here. She wasn't among the dead and that was the best news he's had all day. But he couldn't relax quite yet; if she wasn't here then she was probably still under--

**I was born in a thunderstorm**   
**I grew up overnight**

Tim blinked when music suddenly came on over his comms.

**I played alone**   
**I played on my own**   
**I survived**

**"Red Robin, that's coming from your comm. What are you doing?"** Batman said over the comms, his voice sounding slightly annoyed.

Robin scoffed,**" Is this really the time to be listening to music?"**

Tim stood up in haste, pulling his portable tablet out of his belt pouch. The music continued to play, echoing in all of their comms.

**I wanted everything I never had**

It _was_ his music, suddenly connecting from his tablet to their communication line and for some reason, started playing 'Alive' by Sia. 

**Like the love that comes with light**   
**I wore envy and I hated it**

He tapped at the tablet to stop it.

It didn't work.

**I had a one way ticket to a place where all the demons go**   
**Where the winds don't change**   
**And nothing in the ground can ever grow**

"I don't know what's going on," he breathed, his heartbeat unknowingly matching the beat of the music - fast and hard- "I can't shut it off. It just... turned on by itself."

A beat passed.

**But I survived**

"Have our comms been hacked?" Duke spoke up.

**I'm still breathing, I'm still breathing**

**"Red Robin, find the root of it,"** Batman growled,"** Now!"**

Before Tim could reply that he was on it, fiddling with his tablet and trying to determine what caused it to go haywire, it suddenly stopped. After the minute of music, the comm fell silent, it's sudden calmness deafening. 

Then every speaker on a nearby ambulance started blaring at full volume.

**I'M ALIIIIIIIIIIIIIVE!**   
**I'M ALIIIIIIIIIIIIIVE!**   
**I'M ALIIIIIIIIIIIIIVE!**   
**I'M ALIIIIIIIIIIIIIVE!**

Everyone in the vicinity jumped at the blaring music roaring over the speakers, sounding to every corner of the crowded street. There was yelling and shouting, both angry and excited. A good portion of the crowd cheered, a small sea of arms raised up into the air with their hands clenched into fists.

**I found solace in the strangest place**   
**Way in the back of my mind**

Running out from behind the fire trucks, Tim could see the EMS at the ambulance affected, him and his partner yelling in confusion as he bashed at the buttons to get it to stop. 

The music would not stop.

"Guys, I have no clue what is happening right now," he breathed into the comms, staring in complete awe at the scene in front of him. 

**I had a one way ticket to a place where the demons go**   
**Where all the winds don't change**   
**And nothing in the ground can ever grow**

Where he was expecting Batman, Robin, or the Signal to answer him back, it was actually Oracle's voice that spoke up over the comms.** "Oracle checking in, sorry I'm late the party,"** she would probably never know how much a balm the sound of her voice was at that moment,"** You guys keep working, I'll handle our mysterious musical hacker."**

There was a chorus of agreement. 

**"Red Robin, your side of the comms lit up like a Christmas tree when the music started playing,**" she told him," **Any idea what that surge of power came from?"**

Tim started moving away from the ambulances, one hand covering his other ear. The music from the ambulance speakers continued to blare out at full volume. At the height of the chorus, the crowd had started singing along.

_'At least it's keeping morale high,'_ he thought ironically. A part of him wondered if that was the reason for it in the first place. 

**"Red Robin, what was your location when it started?"** Duke suddenly spoke up.

"Over by- by the uhh..." he glanced backwards at the twelve white sheets on the ground. With a frown, he quickly walked away from them. "Over by the firetrucks. Why?"

**"_Something_ else lit up over there,"** Duke replied," A big flash, then it jumped over to the ambulance before it went all concert speaker mode."

There was worrying hum from Barbara's end. Then,"** Red Robin, remind me to review the footage from your mask cam."**

Because that wasn't worrying at all.

"Well that's reassuring," he scoffed," Are you thinking the cameras may have picked up something the human eye can't see?"

**"If the Signal saw it, it's corporeal enough to reflect light for him to see,"** she answered," **Maybe your cameras were able to see it too."**

**"You go help the others, I'm going to test out a few theories."**

"Roger that," Tim wasn't about to argue with Barbara. Whatever this musical hacker was, he had more pressing concerns and he still needed to find Kinley. With a deep breath, he looked back over the pile of brick and plaster that used to be the Free Clinic. 

He hoped she was still alive under all that. 

"Robin, where are you at?" he called over the comm," Find any more survivors?"

A moment passed, followed by Damian swearing in Arabic. **"Robin, report,"** Bruce barked. 

Damian's swears didn't sound angry, more like... surprised?** "I've found-"** he made a grunting sound, as if lifting something heavy. **"-a survivor,"** he finished. A beat, then he added,**" I've found Leslie Thompkins.**

* * *

Dr. Thompkins, as the head of Crime Alley's Free Clinic, had a big office. With a big desk. A desk made out of metal instead of wood. And it was precisely this desk that probably saved her life. 

When Batman and Red Robin converged on the area, two civilian volunteers were attempting to lift up a large slab of stone and rebar that rested heavily over the desk. Robin was down on his knees, reaching into a narrow passageway under the stone and trying to help widen the opening. Just the edge of the desk was visible, and a dark hollow past that. 

Without a word, Bruce slid his shoulder under the stone slab and with the three of them, they heaved it up another foot. Tim fell to his knees next to Damian and with his back, propped the narrow gap open. "Robin, can you reach in?" he asked, but Damian was already scrambling further in. 

Tim couldn't see, so concentrated on holding the stone up, but then he heard a feminine cry of pain and then Leslie's voice," Not that shoulder!"

"Sorry," came Damian's muttered reply, then Tim saw his body shifting and he was pulling backwards, his hand gripped tight around someone wrist and their's on his. Another civilian ran forward and helped his pull her out. 

And right before Tim's eyes, Kinley emerged from underneath the rubble, dusty and bloody. 

Damian, Kinley, and the civilian fell to the ground in a series of groaned thuds, none more so that her. It was then they were able to see the way she cradled her left arm. 

He almost winced at the unnatural bulge just below her shoulder. 

"Careful with her arm!" Dr. Thompkins directed as soon as Robin reached back in to haul her out. 

With both of them out and relatively safe, Tim scrambled over to them._ 'She's alive,'_ was all he could think,'_ Kinley's alive.' _

"She's got a humerus break," Leslie was instructing Fire and Rescue, who were trying to lift Kinley onto a stretchboard," Whatever you do, don't jostle her left arm."

Kinley briefly glanced up, locked eyes with Red Robin -he opened his mouth say something, express his relief? Say sorry?- and then she pretended she never saw him. 

"Fuck my arm," she growled at the medic, even as she scooted over onto the proffered board," Who's in charge of the GCPD and here_ right now?_"

No one was able to really answer her right away except for the EMT that started immediately assessing her. He shone a small light in her eyes and started speaking, asking her if she felt any nausea or dizziness. In response she told him to fuck off and wait five minutes. "You can check me for a concussion later, right now I need to speak with a Captain or a Lieutenant. I don't care who, just find me _someone_."

"Ma'am, you've been injured, you need to calm down," the EMT again tried to speak with her. 

"Five. Minutes," she snapped at him. 

Even Tim tried to help," You were just in an explosion," he knelt down next to her, one hand raised as if he wanted to reach out to her, but unsure," You could've been killed. Whatever it is, we need to make sure you're okay first."

The look Kinley gave him was particularly dark, staring at him through narrowed eyes as if she couldn't believe he was even speaking to her.

"_I'm_ _alive_," she hissed at him," Not that it's any business of yours."

"I've already assessed she's lucid," Leslie butted in, glaring the younger man down," and I suggest you listen to her."

There was a solid BAM! as Batman let go of the rubble he was holding up and stepped forward. With a grim frown, he placed a hand on the woman's good shoulder and gently urged her to sit calm. Tim and Damian watched in amazement as it actually worked. "Why do you need a police captain?" Batman asked," Do you know what happened here?"

Kinley switched her gaze over from Red Robin to him, and while her expression was still dark, the vitriol in her eyes was dramatically reduced. 

"What time is it?" she asked. 

"Almost four in the afternoon," Batman responded automatically. 

Her face grew even darker. "I called 911 over 3 hours ago," she told him," I want to know why no one came."

* * *

Her name was Kinley Battaglia and she was _pissed_. More than pissed. Damian suspected if she had a weapon on hand, she might even shoot the officer talking to her. "I'm not lying, you motherfucking son of a bitch!" she screamed at Lt. Hennely from the inside of an ambulance," Unless Gotham uses a different number like 999 or some shit, then I called 911! An hour! A fucking hour I waited before I realized you fuck-nuggets weren't coming!"

Lt. Hennely was getting red in the face. "The first calls came in a little bit after 2:30," he tried to tell her," Not at noon. You might be mistaken on your times, it happens with head injuries-"

"Give me my phone and I'll prove it to your dumb ass!"

"Ma'am, we don't have-"

"Then call dispatch and check their logs!"

It was so much fun to watch. Damian stood off to the side, waiting for his father's further instructions and watching as this angry dark-haired woman verbally took down the leader of Gotham's QRT. The others were busy and for now they couldn't clear more of the wreckage without specialists. Father was off somewhere, possibly to call Gordon (either the commissioner or Barbara), Thomas was going back and forth between the ambulances with what looked to be the bag of cell phones, and Drake had his hands full with a gaggle of witnesses a few ambulances over. He had tried remaining with the Battaglia woman, but when she glared at him and growled out the words,_" I thought I told you to fuck off?"_ he left in haste. (Damian was not above saying he thoroughly enjoyed watching that.)

Leaving Damian to watch as this Kinley promised retribution on the entire GCPD. "This is the third time this had happened, you incompetent idiots! What, am I on some kind of 'Do not answer' list?! People have _died_ because of the PD's incompetence and if you think that this can be swept under the rug then you have no fucking clue!" 

"I can assure you we received no-"

"Andare a puttane!" She looked ready to jump out of the back of the ambulance and strangle him herself, broken bones or not. In a sense, Damian kind of agreed with her. It was very likely she _had_ called 911 hours prior, before the hostiles took her phone. And unlike Lt. Hennely's belief, she was completely lucid. Even Robin could see she wasn't concussed. 

"Ma'am, I don't-"

"Find. My. Phone," she glared at him in such a way that promised murder if he didn't.

"We don't _have_ your-"

"Hey, I might be able to help," Thomas jumped in, sidling himself between the officer and the woman. He held up the bag of phones to her," We found this." Inside, multiple phones were ringing and buzzing.

She looked inside the bag, helpfully held open by Thomas, and rummaged around a bit. When her hand emerged, she was holding one of the silent phones. Thomas and Damian shared a look when they noticed the shattered screen.

Seeing it was one of the broken phones, Hennely bid her a hasty goodbye then retreated. "Sorry," Thomas apologized, then stepped off the back of the ambulance to move onto the next one. 

Kinley Battaglia didn't say anything. Just stared at her phone like she'd lost a friend. 

Damian watched a little bit longer, but it was no fun anymore seeing as the object of her ire was no longer there for her to attack. So his gaze turned around to survey the rest of the corridor of EMS vehicles. Thomas sidled up next to him after a minute. 

"Anyone else notice that the music stopped?" he commented. 

Damian blinked; he _hadn't_ noticed the music blaring from the ambulance had stopped. Whenever that occurred, he didn't know. Everyone had been too focused on the rescue effort. "What about it?" he huffed. He assumed whatever had caused it had been stopped by Oracle. 

"It stopped the minute you found Dr. Thompkins," Thomas hummed and Damian didn't know what to make of _that_.

* * *

Dimitri stared at Kinley, who in turn acted like he wasn't even there. Since the moment he stepped into the ambulance, allowed past with the help of Red Robin and a curt nod from Kinley, she hadn't acknowledged him since. She just... gave him one dull look, then turned her eyes away from him in blatant shunning. The EMT did his job quietly while Dimitri could only sit in his seat and watch as she was assessed for further injuries. 

He probably shouldn't even be in this ambulance right now, heading towards Gotham Health. He had no claim to be family, no excuse to be here, barely even her approval. But Red Robin had pulled him aside back at the site, pressed a little phone into his hands and asked," Keep me updated?"

Even if Red hadn't asked, Dimitri would've been hard pressed to leave Kinley's side now. 

He just wished she would say something. 

But no, she just ignored him completely, speaking in clipped tones to the EMT. It would be up to him. "Are you-" he started.

No, that wouldn't be the right thing to ask. Of course she wasn't okay. "Do you," he started over," think Ex is okay? That was.. that was him, outside, wasn't it?" His gaze glanced over to the EMT, but the man gave no indication he knew what they were speaking about. 

CRACK! He winced at the sound as Kinley pried the back off her phone with her fingernail. The phone was carefully balance on her lap as she fumbled with it, her left arm restrained in a makeshift sling. She still wouldn't look at him as one handed she inspected the battery inside. "Check your phone," she told him. There was a flatness to her tone, a hard flat that spoke of forced nonchalance and even then Dimitri found himself scrabbling for the phone in his pocket.

When he pulled it out and flipped it open (wow, been a long time since he's used one of these), the screen flashed green.

He looked up in surprise -and relief- but where he was expecting a smug expression from Kinley, she just gazed at him blankly. "Kinley, I-"

"Why are you here, Shukis?"

"I -what?"

There was an awkward moment as the blood pressure cuff went off and the EMT checked her heart rate with a small device on her fingertip. While he worked, Kinley asked," Do you have a phone I could borrow so I can message a friend?" The EMT's head rose up in surprise, first looking at her strangely, then glancing at Dimitri as if asking,_' Why isn't she asking **you**?' _

Dimitri knew exactly why but didn't have the guts to admit it out loud. 

"Use this one," he held out Red Robin's phone with its screen flashing various shades of green and all," I... I think it'll work for outside calls." Letting Kinley use the phone Red Robin gave him to contact someone other than him probably wasn't its intended use, but Dimitri really didn't care. If Kinley needed a phone (probably to contact the clan and let them know she was alive) then at the very least he could find one for her. 

To his relief -and surprise- she didn't argue him on it and accepted the phone without complaint. Still wouldn't look at him though. Kinley balanced it on her lap and tried poking at the screen with her fingertip, finding first the message app. Dimitri expected her to dial or call her family, but she didn't.

Combined with the bumpiness of the ride, her own shaking fingers, and the fact that flip phones don't sit flat, Kinley struggled with texting. Then she tried holding it in her hand while typing with her thumb, but again - shaking hand. Dimitri thought of offering up his help, but wondered if she'd accept it or not. Were it not for her broken arm, he might've half expected her to literally throw him from this moving vehicle if he did so. In the end, she turned to the EMT instead. "Could you help me type this out?" she asked him. 

Again, the EMT gave Dimitri that,_' What the hell did you do to get put in the doghouse?'_ look but accepted the phone. A smile quirked on the man's face," 'Hey Dorito'?" he read out loud. 

Dimitri frowned; who was that?

"So, what do you want it to say?" the EMT asked, thumbs poised. 

"Tell him, 'Hey Dorito Chip, it's me. I'm okay. I'll contact you later'."

The man quickly texted out the message, then handed the phone back to her. He almost handed it back to Dimitri, but he waved it off back to Kinley. She needed it more than him right now. 

A moment later, soft music started playing on it.

**I'm only one call away**   
**I'll be there to save the day**

For the first time today, Dimitri stifled a laugh. Ridiculous, meddling Ex. They both knew it, even if the EMT didn't it, and tense as the situation was, watching Kinley swear at the phone was amusing. "Damnit," she struggled to silence it," You stay out of this." Somewhere between the first verse and the chorus she managed to turn the volume down but by then it started ringing. 

Dimitri almost hated the way her eyes softened at the caller ID. She answered the call," Hey-"

**"WE'RE ON OUR WAY!"**


	38. How to Almost Get Kicked Out of an Airport

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I can speak English and Spanish, my proficiency in other languages is sketchy at best. 
> 
> In this chapter, Jason and Dimitri speak a handful of Russian. Translations are at the end. I apologize for any grammar mistakes I may have made.

**"WE'RE ON OUR WAY!"**

The phone may have not been on speaker, but the panicked shout could be heard from all occupants of the ambulance. Kinley flinched and nearly dropped the phone.

The voice she recognized as Smiley's continued to yell, sounding ten different levels of frantic.** "Oh thank god you picked up! When the line cut out and I heard that boom and then you wouldn't pick back up-"** he was speaking a mile a minute,**" Are you okay? What's wrong? Tell us where you are; we've got some contacts in the area, just tell me exactly where you're at and-"**

"Smiley!" Kinley barked, a bit of her King voice bleeding through," I'm _fine_!"

* * *

The moment Jason cleared the security checkpoint , after arguing with the clerk at passport control, he turned around at the sound of Roy's voice yelling somewhere behind him. He was paused halfway between passport control and the security check, phone pressed to his ear and doing a little hopping action while he spoke a mile a minute. A security guard was trying to get him to move along through the checkpoint.

Jason would never admit it, but the relieved look and the smile on Roy's face did _wonders_ for his emotions right then. He couldn't quite relax yet, not anytime soon, but if that expression on Roy's face was any indication, it said he'd finally been able to reach Pterodactyl. 

Seeing Jason staring at him across the checkpoint area, Roy waved animatedly at him. "SHE'S OKAY!" he shouted, his voice echoing in the otherwise quiet airport. The security guard shushed him, but that couldn't stop Roy from still waving frantically at his friend. There was a massive grin on the redhead's face, even as he started talking on the phone again. 

From how far away he was, Jason couldn't hear what he was saying, but his lip reading skills were just fine. 

_"I just told him."_  
_"Of course I had to yell, this is the kind of thing that requires yelling."_  
_"Are you fucking kidding me? How many hours?"_  
_"You know what, I'm not even surprised. And while I'm glad you're-"_ he turned his head a bit, so Jason missed part of what he was saying,_" -we're gonna want a full explanation you know."_

Across the checkpoint, they locked eyes and Roy clearly enunciated his next words, making sure Jason could lip read them._ "He's glaring at me right now, I think he's about to come over and fight me for the phone in a couple minutes."_  
_"Yeah yeah, I'll get him. Go calm down our boy."_

Then Roy was holding the phone out to the security guard and pointing to Jason. After a brief minute, the guard took the phone, ran it quick through the scanner, then another guard picked it up and ran it over to Jason. 

He didn't even have to explain before Jason was practically snatching it out of his hand. 

"Are you okay?" was the first words he said.

**"I'm fine, I'm okay, more or less,"** Pterodactyl's voice rang out and to Jason it was the sweetest sound he's heard all day,**" I'm in an ambulance on my way to the hospital. I've got the EMT with me and..."** the next part she said in a sour voice,**" ... a certain someone else who goes by the name Dimitri."**

Dimitri? The asshole Dimitri?_ 'What the fuck is he doing there?'_ Jason wanted to shout. If there was a list of people in the world who he didn't trust to be with Pterodactyl in an ambulance, Dimitri was surely on that list. But right now, Jason had more pressing concerns. 

"What. Happened?" he demanded, sitting down on a nearby bench while he waited for Roy to finish with the security checkpoint. 

**"Long story short, a group of gunmen took over the local clinic and I was caught in the middle of it,"** she told him and for once she was quick and concise with her explanation. Jason figured with this kind of situation, she was less likely to be choosy about her words.** "And while I _called_ 911, the fucking stronzi never showed up!"** her voice rose in anger,**" Then there was a goddamn bomb and-"**

"There was a _what_?!" he screeched. 

**"Well actually there was three. I distinctly remember hearing three big booms before the building came down."**

It was then that Roy finally walked up, hopping on one foot as he put his shoe back on. "What'd I miss?" he asked, only to be greeted with Jason's unholy screech. 

"The building did _what_?!"

"Oh," Roy blinked," She told you, I see."

Jason ignored him, instead shooting to his feet so he could pace while yelling at Pterodactyl over the phone. "When did all this first happen?!" he demanded," Where the hell _was_ everyone?! The police, goddamn QRT, where were the fucking Bats?!"

With each word his voice got louder and louder, drawing the attention of nearly everyone sitting in the terminal. Especially the security guards. Pterodactyl must've been telling him what she knew, as Jason was listening intently and not paying attention to what was around him. So Roy took it into his hands to push his friend over to a row of seats unoccupied. "Go find a quiet corner and hash it all out," he urged him.

Jason shot him a look," Hold on, they just pulled up to the ER." Then on the phone," Alright, but you call me the _minute_ you have time. I don't care _what_ you say, you are _not_ okay and a broken arm is a broken arm so you fricken listen to the docs. Got it?"

**"Aye aye Captain,"** she replied sarcastically.

"And put el hijo de puta on."

**"Put what now?"**

"Dimitri," he clarified," Asshole #3. I've got some _words_ for him."

It was testament to how much she agreed with him that Pterodactyl didn't try to argue with him, or tell him to take it easy on Dimitri. Because Jason had no such plans to do so, and he's been waiting weeks to let Dick's doppleganger know _exactly_ what he thought of him. So when Pterodactly handed over the phone without any objection, it was nice to answer Dimitri's,**" Hello?"** with-

"If it were up to me, I would throw you in the harbor with cinderblock shoes and a couple new holes in your chest," Jason seethed.

**"ты че блять? (ty che blyat')"**

Ooh, it _wasn't_ just a Russian name... Jason could work with this. It was one of his favorite languages, and something about the language made threats just so much sweeter... "Позвольте мне уточнить одну вещь (pozvol'te mne utochnit' odnu vesch')," he growled," If you ever hurt her again, try to sabotage her friendships again, if Ptero gives me _any_ indictation that you fuck up again... Я приду к Готэм и я покончу с тобой (ya pridu k Gotem i ya pokonchu s toboy)."

There was silence on the other end. 

"у нас есть понимание? (u nas yest' ponimaniye)" he prompted. 

**"обо всем по порядку (obo vsem po poryadku),"** Dimitri answered back, voice low and hard, his accent near perfect telling Jason that while he was fluent in the language, he wasn't a natural-born Russian,**" кто ты, черт возьми (kto ty, chert voz'mi)?. Во-вторых, ты называешь ее таро (vo-vtorykh, ty nazyvayesh' yeye taro)?)"**

"это ваше единственное предупреждение (eto vashe yedinstvennoye preduprezhdeniye)," was the last thing Jason said before he mashed the end call button.

* * *

_"At the ED now. She's at Xray then getting MRI."_

Just a short text with no signature, but to Tim it was probably the most important text he'd get all day. Damn, the day really hadn't even started for him yet - he'd been in the middle of a lazy day going over some reports for WE when he'd got the emergency alert- but he felt like he's been going for over 24 hrs already. Not to mention he'd still have to do patrol tonight. With this incident being in the heart of Crime Alley, there'd sure to be some sort of riots tonight. 

After pressing that phone into Dimitri's hands and urging him onto the ambulance, Tim had been left with cleanup and damage control. There was still the hostage situation to investigate too. 

"They were after the medical records," Bruce told them after everyone convened back at the site. Everyone's faces were covered in dust and their eyes haunted by the memory of pulling bodies out of the rubble. Robin was rubbing his face, under the guise of wiping the dirt away but Tim could see the dark look on his face. 

He himself tried to wipe away the image of twelve white sheets from his mind. 

"Dr. Thompkins said they took the clinic hard and fast," Bruce continued," Cut the phone lines, rounded up hostages, split her off from the rest of the group."

**"Do we have any idea what exactly they were after?"** Oracle asked. 

"Not certain," Bruce sighed deeply," They wanted medical records, but weren't clear which ones they were after in particular."

Duke scratched his chin. "And why here?" he asked," Gotham Health has way more records. Half the people who come here don't even give their information; and the ones who do don't really have that much in the first place." 

Tim had to agree. "And if that's all they were after, then why plant the bombs?" 

"That's what we have to find out."

* * *

Detective Chris Peterson was used to the night shift, but he had a feeling tonight was going to be especially long. "The Clinic," he sighed, looking at the pile of rubble where the Free Clinic once stood," Of all places."

He stood off to the side while the commissioner spoke briefly -very briefly- with a gaggle of reporters. It was a lot of," Investigation is underway," and "We express our extreme condolences of everyone affected by this attack." 

_'Commish is going to have his hands full,'_ Peterson thought and did not envy him. He was more than happy enough with being a detective. And well... among other things. 

Reports were already coming in from witnesses, some of which he's heard some conflicting accounts. (He had to do a double take when he overheard a young teen loudly proclaim," The Red Hood was there! I swear it!") Peterson wondered who'd Chief Bock assign this case to; they'd have their hands full just putting all these reports together into some sort of order. 

"Peterson," someone called quietly, stepping up to his right side. He glanced and saw a young firefighter. He was covered head to toe in gear, face smeared with dust and sweat, so much so that Peterson couldn't identify him at first. Then he saw the name badge 'Acies'.

"I found this," the young man spoke softly, holding something out to him. 

It was small and metal, and when Peterson took it, it was a necklace. The pendant was the letter 'M' with a small circle resting between the peaks. 

Peterson curled his fingers around the pendant, feeling the corners poke into his palm. _'Of fucking course,'_ he thought. "Thank you," he told the firefighter.

Acies frowned, his eyes flickering over to the crowd still amassed in the street. No one was looking their way. Then he looked at Peterson. "Should we tell Mother?" he asked. 

They really should. But- "Something tells me she already knows."

* * *

When the doctor came in to introduce himself, Dimitri looked like he wanted to cry. Dr. Montel Battaglia grinned at his over-exaggerated groan, but very specifically did not speak directly to him. Instead he -like Kinley had earlier- pretended Dimitri wasn't even in the room, speaking with her in hushed tones. First they discussed the incident and who should contact her family, then moved on to the extent of her injuries. 

"Do you want the best to worst, or worst to best?" the doctor asked, his voice going oddly soft. Dimitri looked between the two Battaglias, wondering why they both looked so grim.

Kinley herself was just so... defeated, sighing deeply as her head hit the back of the hospital bed. "It's my arm, isn't it?" her voice cracked. 

Dr. Battaglia's silence was telling. 

When neither said anything, Dimitri spoke up," It's... it's just broken, right? I mean, that's kind of obvious, so it'll be in a cast, but why are you- why do you both-?"

_'Look like it's the end of the world?'_ he couldn't finish. 

Even more silence filled the room. The doctor opened his mouth to answer, thought better of it, and closed his mouth with a clack. Until finally, Kinley spoke," Dimitri... I can't feel my fingers."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
Stronzi: (Italian) Assholes  
el hijo de puta: (Spanish) the son of a bitch  
ты че блять(ty che blyat'): (Russian) What the fuck?  
Позвольте мне уточнить одну вещь (pozvol'te mne utochnit' odnu vesch'): (Russian) Let me make one thing clear  
Я приду к Готэм и я покончу с тобой (ya pridu k Gotem i ya pokonchu s toboy): (Russian) I will come to Gotham and I will end you  
у нас есть понимание? (u nas yest' ponimaniye): (Russian) Do we have an understanding?  
обо всем по порядку (obo vsem po poryadku): (Russian) First of all  
кто ты, черт возьми (kto ty, chert voz'mi): (Russian) Who the hell are you?  
Во-вторых, ты называешь ее таро (vo-vtorykh, ty nazyvayesh' yeye taro): (Russian) Secondly, you call her tarot?  
это ваше единственное предупреждение (eto vashe yedinstvennoye preduprezhdeniye): (Russian) This is your only warning


	39. You Get What You Need

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rule Number Three: You won't always be there, so prepare for when you're not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this emotional development?

He stood in front of the apartment door and took a deep breath. (_"The apartment to the right of mine," Kinley had told him, an offhand remark as she held her keys out to him," Shantelle and Annie. Ask them to take care of Gelert for me." _

_He asked who Gelert was, but in return all he got a piercing stare.)_

_'Baby steps, Dimitri,_' he reminded himself. He'd been kicked out of hospital rooms before, but never as swiftly as he'd been kicked out the ER once Kinley and Dr. Battaglia started discussing her plan of care. It had been a slap in the face, the way Kinley had glanced at him and in no uncertain terms told him to leave them alone. But then came the olive branch in her handing over her apartment keys to bring to her neighbors. 

_(The quiet way she added," The very last thing I'll ever ask of you, promise," had him choking up and nodding silently.)_

Dimitri didn't know who Shantelle or Annie were, but here he was knocking on their door. A woman with dark hair and wearing a Red Hood t-shirt answered the door. 

"Umm, hi," he shuffled awkwardly, his knee was getting sore and he was just now noticing it. (Funny how it took him all day to realize he should've sat down and rested his leg hours ago.)

The woman narrowed her eyes at him. "Who the hell are you?" she demanded. 

Right. If Dimitri didn't know of her, it was most likely she wouldn't know he was either. "I'm Dimitri Shukis," he introduced himself," Kinley sent me over to-"

The last thing he expected was the fist clocking him right in the face.

* * *

"Radial nerve injury?" The words tasted like ash on his tongue. Jason rubbed his eyes; this was turning into a long freaking day and the nap he took on the plane hadn't helped at all. It had taken her a couple hours, but when Pterodactyl managed to call him back on a hospital phone, he'd never answered his phone faster. Then she told him the news. 

**"Yeah..."** she sounded just as enthused as him,**" They say it's pretty common with broken arms, especially the humerus."**

_'Damn it being common,'_ Jason cursed_, 'This is serious.'_ Left hand or not, if Pterodactyl had severe enough nerve damage, that could mean the total loss of use of her hand. "How bad is it?" he found himself asking. 

**"On a scale of 1-10? A solid six,"** she replied, her words broken by a yawn,**" I can still kinda move my fingers, so it's not a complete break. But they need to run more tests to know for sure. I still might need surgery."**

Jason wanted to tell her to get the surgery, no matter what and he would take care of the cost. But that would mean paying for her bill (which would be fine) and _knowing_ her name (which was not). Instead, all he could muster out was," I'm sorry."

She made a low humming noise in her throat, as if she disagreed with his statement. **"For what?"** she asked,**" You couldn't have done anything, so you shouldn't worry over it."**

That's where she was wrong. He could've done many things. Somehow, he couldn't help but blame himself. He should've gotten there faster. He should've called to get her help in time if he couldn't. He should've he should've he should've-

He should've been in Gotham in the first place. 

_**"Flight 1359 is now boarding for Dublin,"**_ the airport's intercom system pinged overhead.

**"Are you in an airport?" **

In Roissy actually. "Yep," Jason replied with a pop and leaned back against the cold wall. This little corner he found was bare and dimly lit, but it was secluded and private. 

**"Why?"**

"Because planes are faster than trains."

The line was silent for a second and he could almost hear her wanting to ask,' Why?' again. "Waiting in layover right now," he clarified.

**"You were coming back to Gotham?"** she sounded so surprised. 

Wow, how much of an ass was he that she thought he would've ignored an SOS like that? And yet, even he was still a little harried with how quickly and easily he'd decided to go back. 

"Yeah," he rasped. 

**"But you said-"** she floundered for words,**" Are you still... planning to?"**

Jason truly didn't know how to answer. _Was_ he? He didn't know. Ptero was safe now, safe and being taken care of; how could he make any difference? If he were to show up in Gotham tonight, showed up at her hospital room with Roy in tow, all he could bring was the scrutiny of the Bats and a target on her back. 

"Do you want me to?" was that _his_ voice, quiet and unsure?

There was some shuffling on her end of the line, some muffled voices as Pterodactyl said,**" A couple minutes please?"** A few more murmurs, leading him to assume she was speaking to her nurse. Then she returned to the call. **"Do _you_ want to come back?"**

Now that wasn't fair. "You can't answer my question with another question," he argued. If anyone said he pouted, he'd deny it til the end of time. 

**"I can, I will, and I did,"** she replied succinctly,**" I'm not going to ask you to do anything you aren't ready for."**

But he didn't know what to say. 

"I miss it," he said," I miss Gotham, and I miss home, but..." She didn't say anything and waited for him get his thoughts in order," The home I miss hasn't existed in a long time. If I go back... If my br- If my family finds me..." 

Jason banged the back of his head against the wall. It seems he did that a lot when talking to Ptero. "You remember why I left in the first place, right?" She hummed an affirmative and added,**" My offer still stands. I can give advice, get involved, or just listen."**

(She said it every time that night in the train station was brought up. And every time he replied_," Just keep listening. That's all I ask for.")_

This time, his answer was," If I go back, it won't be just me with a target on my back."

Pterodactyl chuckled briefly but didn't elaborate. She may have muttered something like,**" Cute,"** under her breath, but he wasn't entirely sure. This was not a cute situation, and nothing about this conversation constituted her amusement. This was serious, damnit!

But then she added,"** Are you worried about coming back to the city? Or coming back to the States?"**

"I... what?"

**"I have an idea,**" she clarified,**" You don't... have to come all the way to Gotham. I hear New York is beautiful this time of year."**

Was she?_ 'No,'_ he thought,_' She's not seriously suggesting...' _

**"Or any other city of your choice,"** she quickly added when he wasn't forthcoming with an answer,**" I thought that would be a good compromise because then you don't have to worry about coming back to Gotham and running into your family, at least not until you're ready. But if you're just worried about me, I can assure you I'll be fine. If the surgery goes well, I'll-"**

"Exactly!" he blurted out," You're going into surgery tomorrow! I can't make you drive all the way out to New York or wherever just because I'm a little paranoid about coming back."

**"Oh uccelino,"** she sounded so sad,**" Has no one ever met you halfway?"**

"That's not what this is about and you know it," Jason argued," This is about you getting hurt because Gotham is a piece of shit town where not even the cops respond to a 911 call. _You almost died_, and now you might lose your hand, and you're worried about _my_ mental health right now? 

**"Why are you so worked up about this?"** she asked, genuinely confused,"** There was nothing you could've done-"**

"I should've _been_ there!" 

The line fell silent at his outburst and Jason leaned back and banged his head on the wall again. "I never should've left Gotham," he spoke quieter," If I had been there... you never would've been caught in that stupid explosion..." And wasn't that the truth of it? The Free Clinic was right in the heart of Crime Alley, right in Red Hood territory. Screw the Bats, the Red Hood would've heard that 911 call -_he_ would've heard that S.O.S. call- and he could've gotten there sooner. He could've been there and stopped them before the bombs went off. Those people wouldn't be dead right now, and Pterodactyl wouldn't be in the hospital waiting to see if she got to keep the use of her arm or not. 

The Bowery was his home to keep safe, and he abandoned it. 

**"Rule Number Three..."**

"What?"

Pterodactyl took a deep breath and told him,"** I'm going to let you in on a little secret. For people like... people like us, there are certain rules that help make it easier. We can't always be perfect, and we can't always save everyone."**

This really wasn't helping him. "Is this supposed to be making me feel better?" he asked sourly," Because your pep talk really sucks right now."

**"Just follow the damn rules,"** she huffed at him,**" One day you'll thank me for them, but right now you need Number Three."**

"Fine fine! What are your rules and what's number three? Is this another thing of yours where you ask random strangers 'Are you okay?' in train stations?"

**"No, that was a special occasion,"** how dare she sound almost bemused at that? **"Rule Number Three: You won't always be there."**

"Not exactly encouraging."

**"Shut up and let me finish. 'You won't always be there, so prepare them for when you're not.' You can't always be around to protect the ones you care about, eventually you have to trust them enough to take care of themselves."**

Jason opened his mouth to tell her that sounded like a bunch of bullcrap or something along those lines, but she cut him off,"** The same goes for your home. So bad things happened; you can't feel guilty that you weren't there because it might not have changed anything. You prepared me for it for the best you could, and that's what counts."**

"What does that even-"

**"Remember when you convinced me to start carrying? Well, let's just say my little Taurus got some use today."**

_'Oh no,'_ he blanched. "Ptero, did you-"

**"I have to go now,"** she suddenly said,**" The doctor's here. Remember what I said: You can't think of 'what it's'. They'll only destroy you in the end."**

Then she hung up without letting him edge another word in. 

The phone hung loosely in his hand, near to slipping out and clattering on the floor. His head tilted forward and he had to remind himself,_' Deep breaths. Slow breaths. 1-2-3.'_ Even after their talk, he couldn't help but feel... this was still somehow his fault. 

_'Rule Number Three she said. She didn't even explain it that well!'_ Had it been some 'don't worry about the past, look onto the future' Rafiki shit? No, maybe it had been 'don't think of the what if's'? No no, she definitely said it means 'You won't always be there'. What the hell does that even mean?!

Roy sat next to him, a comforting warmth against his side - when had he gotten back? In his hands he held two steaming cups of coffee, waiting for Jason to take one. "You can't blame yourself," he tried to tell him," She's gonna be fine. A little pissed off and maybe on a warpath against the dispatch center, but she's alive. Isn't that what matters?"

Jason wondered what he did to deserve Roy Harper. "I know, I know," he sighed," I just... she works with her hands, Roy. I've seen some of the things she builds and they're _good_. How's she... how's she going to do so now?"

Roy, ever the optimist, just said," There's always a way. Besides," he grinned and nudged his shoulder," If worse comes to worst, I promise to build her the raddest prosthetic arm _ever_."

It was ridiculous and far-fetched, but so true and Jason knew he'd do it too. But then," That would mean having to go to Gotham and giving it to her." Which for now, was nowhere in the foreseeable future. 

Roy blinked," Wait. We're _not_ going back?"

Jason shook his head. "No," another deep breath," We talked and... maybe it's better if I don't go back to Gotham yet. I'm not ready yet, and it sounds like she agrees."

"Yeah but-" the redhead started, placing the cups down on the ground. 

"And it's more than it's just Gotham I'm not ready for," Jason continued on, not realizing that Roy looked like he was about to have a fit," But I can't face Bruce or Dick yet, and if I go back, _one of them_ will find me for sure and I don't know yet if they're still gunning to lock my-"

"I know who Pterodactyl is!" Roy blurted out, then clapped his hands over his mouth.

"... _What?_"

"I-uh," Roy lowered his hands, looking sheepishly at him," I figured out who Pterodactyl is?" At Jason's continued astonished staring, he tried to explain," I didn't mean to! I just... when we were on the phone with that weird SOS message, they started spelling out something else and they only got halfway through it, but then I got curious and so I looked it up." 

His hands started waving around excitedly in a panic, trying to show that all of this really wasn't on purpose. "And then I realized it was a name, so I panicked and ripped up the piece of paper so you wouldn't see it," he babbled," And then we found out about that whole fiasco and that she nearly got blown up. So when I was getting the coffees, I pulled up the news feed for Gotham and saw there was a- well, it was some clinic or other, and then I saw a picture of Red Robin next to Dick. Only it wasn't Dick, it was his twin, Dimitri you know? Then there was video of the whole thing on Twitter and there's this girl just absolutely _screaming_ at a cop about not answering 911 calls which is exactly what Pterodactyl told us and- well..." 

Face red and abashed, Roy ducked his head and hunched his shoulders up. "Yeah, she was tagged and I found her name," he admitted and braced himself for Jason's reaction. 

Jason, for his part, looked like he was still in shock. 

"....What?" He repeated so eloquently 

_'Oh, shock,_' Roy realized,_' It's one hell of a drug.'_ "Do you..." he ventured," ...want to know it?"

"Don't tell me!" Jason burst out. Roy reeled back, not expecting him to panic like that. "Not yet," Jason said a little bit quieter and a lot more calmer," I can't... I don't want to find out from, from the _news_. Not like this."

Ah, Roy could understand. Either Pterodactyl tells him herself, or it doesn't happen. 

Still, he thought they _should_. "If it makes you feel any better..." he offered up, reaching down to grab his own cup of coffee," ...She's pretty damn cool even when she's not anonymous."

* * *

"Father."

Bruce turned away from the screen to look at his youngest. Damian sat over on the edge of the desk, holding a tablet but his gaze was fixed on his father. "Why didn't the police respond to the 911 call?" he asked," Is it not their duty?"

It _is_ their duty, and Bruce wanted to know why they didn't. Thus while he investigated the explosion at the clinic -three bombs, two set at strategic foundation points and the third in the center- Damian was looking into the 911 calls. 

"Gordon says the nearby units never heard anything over the radio," he answered," The call never made it past the dispatch center."

And they needed to find out why.

PING. The tablet beeped in Damian's hands," Here are the recordings, Father. There were four calls made from the same phone around the time the girl claimed to have called." Four calls to 911? And still no one responded? Bruce was starting to get a bad feeling about this, even worse than when she first told Batman the police never responded to her call.

Bruce put his current investigation on pause. "Play them," he said. 

**"911, what is your location?"** the dispatch operator answered, cool and calm. 

There was a series of beeps and taps, a mix between the sounds of someone pushing buttons and a strange tapping sound, like hitting a fingernail across the speaker. No words were spoken, but they immediately recognized it. 

**TAP TAP TAP. Beep beep beep. TAP TAP TAP.**

"Morse code," Damian frowned. It made sense; in a hostage situation, it's paramount to not draw attention to oneself. Being found talking on the phone would be a death sentence. 

**TAP TAP TAP. Beep beep beep. TAP TAP TAP.**

**"911, what is your emergency?"** the operator asked again. 

Bruce almost sighed; of course she didn't recognize it as morse code. 

**TAP TAP TAP. Beep beep beep. TAP TAP TAP.**

"It's the same message over and over," he mused," S.O.S."

**"This line is for emergencies only. Please state your emergency and location."**

**TAP TAP TAP. Beep beep beep. TAP TAP TAP.**

**"If you have no emergency or crime to report, please hang up."**

**TAP TAP TAP. Beep beep beep. TAP TAP TAP.**

**"This number is for emergencies _only_,"** the operator was clearly getting annoyed. 

**TAP TAP TAP. Beep beep beep. TAP TAP-**

The call disconnected then, obviously hung up on by dispatch.

Bruce made a face. That was almost painful to listen to. "Play the next one."

**"911, what is your location?"** It was the same dispatch operator.

**TAP TAP TAP. Beep beep beep. TAP TAP TAP.**

**"Whoever this is, you are tying up an emergency line with your prank calls."**

**TAP TAP TAP. Beep beep beep. TAP TAP TAP.**

**"It is _illegal_ to prank call 911."**

**TAP TAP TAP. Beep beep-** Once again, the operator hung up. 

"Next call."

**"911, what is your location?"** This time, it was a different operator, but the one sided conversation went almost exactly the same as the first call. 

By the time that call was disconnected, Bruce was rubbing his temples. So freaking painful to listen to. 

Damian's sneer was reaching disgusted levels. 

The last call was short. 

**TAP TAP TAP. Beep-** The line went dead. 

There were no more calls after that, either the explosion went off then or they just stopped trying. He was leaning more towards the latter. 

And _there_ was his headache again. This was going to be a bitch to deal with...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you think Jason should return to Gotham? Or should they follow Kinley's idea of meeting somewhere else, in another city?


	40. Catharsis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, you have to re-break a bone before it can heal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS CHAPTER HAS BEEN A LONG TIME COMING AND I COULDN'T WAIT ANYMORE.

For once, the apartment was well lit. Too much so, as every light, lamp, and TV were turned on. "Dimitri?" Tim called out, suddenly uneasy. This wasn't typical Dimitri style, who normally kept his apartment dark and quiet. The TV was blaring some medical sitcom, lighthearted and funny, but no one was on the sofa to watch it. 

Red Robin made a quick search of the place before finding Dimitri Shukis in the kitchen, silently chowing down on mac-n-cheese. "Uh, hi?" Tim greeted dumbly when Dimitri looked up. Tim was surprised to see the beginnings of a shiner over his left eye. 

"What do you want?" he asked. He looked so tired and depressed, and with Dick's face it was starting to make _Tim_ feel depressed. So instead of answering, he tapped on his comm. 

"Oracle, you there?"

**"What's up, Red?"**

"I'm going offline for a few minutes."

**"Copy that,**" she didn't ask why, though she probably already knew where he was. Once he turned off his comm and pulled it out of his ear, Tim took a seat at the small kitchen table. Dimitri eyed him warily, but took a stubborn bite of his meal. 

"Bowls in cupboard, mac-n-cheese on the stove," he offered. 

_'Well, at least it's not cereal,'_ Tim thought -that would be too close to Dick's mannerisms- but said," No thanks, I already ate."

A _very_ awkward minute passed before Dimitri asked again," So why are you here? Shouldn't you be out patrolling or solving cases like why some assholes decided to blow up a hospital?" He was starting to get grumpy.

Now Tim was no Cassandra, and reading body language wasn't one of his better skills. But Dimitri was especially bad at being fake-grumpy tonight. "Drop the act, Dimitri," he sighed, not having the energy to deal with it tonight," I know you're only pretending."

Dimitri Shukis glared at him a moment longer, his glare more akin to a pout worthy of Dick's face than a glare. Finally, he let out a giant sigh and took another bite of his mac-n-cheese. After chewing, he spoke in a quiet voice," I really don't want to deal with you tonight, Red. All I want is to sit here, eat my food, and try to forget."

"Forget what?" Tim blurted out before he could stop himself. 

Dimitri stared at him pitifully, not having the energy to answer him just as he'd said. "Right, sorry," Tim apologized, actually looking bashful," I-uh, really didn't come here for anything. I mean, I _am_ investigating the clinic and everything, but any information you know you already told me back at- well, back at the site."

He was starting to ramble. He knew it and so did Dimitri, who just looked so annoyed but not enough to tell him to shut up. "But yeah, I kinda came here to -you know, check up on you," Tim finished lamely. 

The dark-haired photographer snorted. "Well aren't I special," he snarked," Are you going to go 'check up' on everyone else who was at the clinic?"

"Eventually, yes," Tim answered honestly and that surprised Dimitri," But I wanted to check on you first."

"Why? You want your phone back already?"

"Because the other's don't have previous trauma when it comes to collapsed buildings."

The kitchen fell utterly silent save for the voices on the TV in the other room. "Oh," Dimitri's voice was quiet," You found that?"

"I did." He felt bad for bringing it up, he really did. Tim knew that couldn't have been a pleasant memory and today's events had to have triggered some of the more upsetting parts of it. But it had to be said. Once Tim realized what had happened five years ago in NYC, and how similar it was to the incident here, he knew Dimitri would not be in a good place right now. 

Tim knew that being trapped for days at a time was a burden that followed you for the rest of your life. 

"That's why you have all the lights and TV on, isn't it?" he guessed," I remember after-" he cleared his throat," I know it helps to have voices around you and to have there not be any dark corners." Maybe that's why he liked the Penthouse so much. It was more than just his independence from Bruce or his freedom from the Manor; the Penthouse had so many windows and during the day it was nothing but light. 

"It helps you feel like you're not so trapped."

Dimitri's blue eyes raised, gazing at Red Robin in a new light, as if he hadn't really realized that under the mask there was a man. A living, breathing, feeling man. One who felt emotions and fear and trauma and this incident affected more than just the civilians. "How long were you...?" he started to ask, but trailed off. 

For Tim, it hadn't been a collapsed building. He'd been in enough of those that the short periods trapped under rubble didn't bother him anymore. For him, it was a little cell in the mountains, days away from the nearest town that wasn't hostile. "Days," he answered truthfully. 

"Oh..." Dimitri didn't ask and Tim was glad he didn't. 

"It's... " he said instead, stirring his mac-n-cheese slowly with his spoon and staring into it as if it held all the answers to the universe," It's not really what happened in New York that's affecting me now...My... trauma or whatever you want to call it happened years before."

Tim stared at him expectantly. 

"What happened in New York, I actually barely remember any of it," Dimitri admitted," I remember what led up to it and everything. I remember bits of pieces of being trapped, but I... I wasn't exactly conscious for most of it. I remember waking up in the hospital two days later, and they told me what happened and I just..."

Dimitri shook his head and took another bite of his food. Tim couldn't decide if it was to stop himself from saying something he didn't want to say, or if it was to stop himself from crying. After a while he continued," How has she been?"

He didn't say a name, but Tim had an idea of who he meant. "She got blown up," he reminded Dimitri," I imagine she feels pretty shitty right about now."

The Lithuanian glared at him, but at worst it could've melted only butter. "I'm talking about _before_, asshole," he said," Like the past four months. I mean, I know she wasn't hurt or anything before today, but..." The space between his eyebrows pinched and he stirred his food," Trent sent me a pretty worrying text..."

Tim still didn't know who Trent was, nor what about his text might've spooked Dimitri so much. But he did know that he couldn't answer his question. "I couldn't tell you," he admitted," I haven't... seen her in a few months." And wow, that look from Dimitri was getting _judgy._

"Why?"

Tim shifted in his seat. Perhaps... it hadn't been the wisest idea to cut off ties with Kinley and her friends? "I asked her about some things you mentioned-" he began, surprised when Dimitri buried his face in his hands and started mumbling," -and we got in a fight and she told me to leave, so I did."

"And just, never checked in on her?"

"I didn't have a reason to."

"дурь несусветная (dur' nesusvetnaya)!"

Tim glared at him under the cowl. "Why are you so upset anyways? Aren't you the one always telling me the Battaglias are bad news? The one who says he hates Kinley because she ruined his life?" Dimitri burrowed deeper into his hands with every sentence. "The one who has repeatedly told me it's wiser to never get involved with that family? The one who-"

"You shouldn't have _listened_ to me!" Dimitri exploded, both verbally and physically, slamming his fist down on the table," I lied, okay?! I lied about hating her and I lied about her ruining my life and I lied about the Battaglias. _I_ ruined my own life, _I_ was the one who ran into that building, and _I_ blamed it all on them because it was easier."

The bowl on the table sat forgotten as he pushed back from it. He tilted back in his chair, as well as his head, and stared up at the ceiling like it would give him the judgement he wanted. "Why would you listen to me?" he despaired," Can't you see I'm the bad guy here?"

He wouldn't look at Red Robin, and Tim didn't know what to say to that. Not really. It was...a lot to take in. Somewhere in the silence, his watch beeped (a reminder from Oracle). "Just... go do your heroing stuff," Dimitri waved an absent hand in his direction," The city's gonna need you tonight."

Tim wanted to say no and stay sitting right there, but Dimitri was right. The Bowery would be in chaos tonight (he'd already passed by at least one protest on the way here) and Red Robin would need to be there. Still, even as he stood up, he had to say," You're not a bad guy."

"What?"

Tim gently pushed in the chair he'd been sitting on and looked Dimitri in the eye. Sometimes it was really unnerving to just look at him, to see Dick's face and know it's not him. But right now, Tim only saw Dimitri. A grumpy, isolated photographer with Clark Kent glasses and a scarred face that never really got explained. Dimitri hid his emotions with a scowl and a glare. He couldn't recognize what exactly the man was always trying to hide, but Tim wanted to know.

But he did know this so far. "You're not a bad guy," he repeated," You're just human, with human emotions and sometimes you make mistakes." He put his comm back in his ear but didn't turn it on quite yet," Believe me, everyone does."

* * *

RN Carter glanced up when the alarm buzzed in the nurse's station, signalling someone was waiting at the entrance to the ICU. His chair made a slight sound as it wheeled across the floor, and he opened up the intercom. On the screen was a police officer dressed in uniform. "Hello?" Carter prompted. 

**"Christopher Peterson, here to see Kinley Battaglia,"** the officer stated. 

Carter thought it strange for a cop to be visiting a patient so late at night, but then he remembered some of the patients tonight had been involved in today's explosion. This Kinley must be one of them and the cop was probably just getting report. Who was he to know? Carter usually worked in the OB. 

Glancing at his notes and seeing that Kinley listed all visitors welcome, he buzzed the officer in and directed him to Rm 432. 

It was probably all routine.

* * *

If Kinley was surprised to see Dimitri waiting in her ICU room after coming back from surgery, she didn't show it. The hard look she gave him reminded of his editor when a deadline was coming up and she was getting ready to whip everyone into shape. As much as Dimitri didn't like that blank look she gave him yesterday in the ambulance, he liked this one even less.

Yesterday Kinley looked at him like he was a stranger. Today she looked at him like he was a threat. 

And Kinley was very good at taking out threats. 

"I assume you're here to talk," she guessed, but it didn't sound very much like a question. Unsurprisingly she didn't ask about his black eye. And after the screaming fit he endured yesterday by one pissed off Shantelle Ellis, Dimitri figured that he probably had it coming. 

(_"If I lose her to the Rot and I find out it's your fault, I will never forgive you._") The last text he recieved from Trent still rang in his ear and after last night...

Dimitri swallowed hard, wondering just how close to right Trent had been. "I-er, came to bring Ex back," he said in lieu of explanation, holding up the little flip phone. It was empty now. There had been a cell phone sitting on the table next to the hospital bed, obviously a replacement for her destroyed one. It had lit up green the instant Dimitri stepped into the room and he wondered if Ex hadn't made the transfer before he even arrived on the floor. 

Ex and Kinley were very good at finding each other.

"You should get some rest," he started but she cut him off.

"No, we're talking about this now," Kinley's voice was hard as stone, telling him they were going to talk. She didn't yell, she didn't swear, she told and Dimitri was just going to have to take it as gospel truth. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered if Coco realized just how on-the-spot she was with Kinley's nickname. 

They locked eyes, each stubborn and forceful in their own nature. Her gaze was cold and guarded as she stared him down, absolutely nothing left of the warm Kinley most everyone knew. That hard stare always unnerved him -as it did everyone else- even when he was witness to it being directed at someone else. It was natural to hate that stare; one couldn't help but feel as if they were being judged. But the reasons why Dimitri personally hated it were not what one would expect. 

He took a seat in the chair by the bed. In a flash of clarity, he realized their positions were switched from five years ago. "What do you want me to say?" he asked sourly. 

"_Do_ you have anything to say?"

"No," he held up a hand," We're not doing this; you are not going to manipulate me with your vague questions and mind games." She opened her mouth to argue but Dimitri held firm," You do, even if you don't realize it. You never speak your true thoughts, and you get other people filling all the silences by refusing to answer a simple question." Kind of ironic he was doing exactly that right now. 

One of her eyebrows slightly went up; she looked at him blankly, expectantly. 

"You forget," he reminded her," I know you better than anyone in this world."

Something flashed behind her eyes and she deliberately loosened the muscles in her face to hide it. He was quick to point it out. "There! You had a thought, right there. And you're not gonna say it because you don't want to talk, you want _me_ to talk. But it's killing you to stay quiet." 

Her face was tightening up again. Unreadable, but not as blank as she'd like it to be. "It doesn't matter," Kinley said resolutely. 

"It does," he argued," So why can't you just say it?" Yet she remained stubbornly quiet. "Kinley... I can't be honest with you if you're not honest with me."

"You said you knew me better than anyone in the world..." she finally spoke, quietly but still with that guarded look," That also means you're the most dangerous person in the world."

And wasn't that the truth of it? (_"If I lose her to the Rot and I find out it's your fault, I will never forgive you."_) There was a sudden, unrelenting pressure behind Dimitri's sternum, something he hadn't felt in a long time. It made breathing that much harder but it was a sweet pressure, like a weight firmly tethering him. But pull the tether too tight and...

Kinley's hand idled at her the base of her throat before pressing into the curve of her collarbone. He knew Kinley; knew her thought process, knew her fears, knew what made her tick. Dimitri knew what she meant by calling him the most dangerous person in the world. 

He knew about Rule Number Five. 

"I'd like to think you knew me better than that," he murmured," That you'd know I would never use that against you."

She didn't look convinced. "A friend wouldn't," she said," but you've made it clear we're not friends."

Her words were harsh and sharp, designed to cut straight to the core and leave the knife there for someone else to take out. Did he not earn that? Was it not him who burned that bridge? Whatever trust that had been forged in that burning school five years ago, he had burned just like he had that letter. In the face of Kinley's anger, Dimitri could only hang his head in shame. 

"So why are you _here_, Dimitri?"

"Ex called me," he could only say lamely. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a green flash, as if Ex was acknowledging his name being uttered. "I heard the SOS; I couldn't just ignore that. I couldn't just leave you to _die_."

Her face softened. "I know... You wouldn't leave anyone. That's what makes you a good person."

_'But,'_ he could hear it coming. 

"-but why are you here _now_? You've done your part, you made sure everyone's safe. So why are you sticking around?" she asked," Why did you even go in the ambulance with me? Why are you still _here_?" 

_'Why are you still at my side?_' was the unspoken question.

_'Rule Number Five,'_ he thought grimly and knew she was repeating that in her own mind,'_ 'In the end, you will always die alone'.' _

Well **fuck** Rule Number Five...

"Rule Number Four," he said with great fervor and watched as her eyes go wide," That's why I'm here."

"How..." Kinley breathed," You've never read the journals-"

Dimitri leaned forward in his seat, eyes bright," You think they weren't _burned_ into my mind five years ago? Of course I know about the Rules. Even the one you scratched out and pretend doesn't exist anymore. And I'm telling you that I still believe in Number Four."

The Rule she scratched out and replaced with Number Five. 

"But you _hate_ me," she said, her voice cracking and Kinley's brown eyes watering as they stared at him with such hurt and betrayal.

And there it was, in that singular heart breaking moment, Dimitri finally saw past her shield. He saw that open emptiness behind her eyes, the very same thing that Trent saw everytime he looked at his sister a little too hard. Once, and only once, did he give Dimitri the word for what he saw there. 

Loneliness... 

...and Kinley was not a creature that should be left alone for so long. 

With a surge of emotion, he rose from the chair and wrapped his arms around her, incredibly mindful of her arm. Kinley's entire frame trembled and flinched at the touch, but her good fingers clawed into his sleeve and held him there. It broke his heart. 

"I lied," he murmured into her hair, ignoring the smell of dust and smoke that he swore still clung to her. His voice cracked and his eyes burned hot. "I lied, I lied, I lied. I don't hate you and I never should've told you that. _I don't._ I don't think I could ever hate you, Kin."

She made a small sound, but didn't say anything. 

"I hated _them_," he told her," I hated how they spent all this time preparing you, building you up into this... this... _idol_ and they forgot that you're still human. I hated them because they reminded me of the Balchunas."

"Mm not~" she mumbled something. Dimitri pressed her to repeat what she'd said. 

"I'm not human," Kinley said quietly, refusing to even look at him," You said so yourself."

(_"That would require both of us to be human,"_ a text sent late at night, full of anger and hate and regretful sorrows.) Dimitri felt his eyes burn hot, a stinging sensation just behind his eyelids. "I was so wrong," he croaked," I was _wrong_, Kinley, and I never should've said that. You are more human than anyone else on this planet and I can't tell you how ashamed I am of myself."

"And I was an idiot and saw you as the face of the Battaglias, and I took my anger at them out on you. I thought that if I cut all ties then I could move past it all and just _forget_ everything from the past twenty years," there were tears streaming down his face, the first ones to fall in five years, and as Kinley's arm wrapped around him and hugged him back just as tightly, he knew she was crying too," But then Ex called and I was scared. Gods, I was so scared."

There was a sniffle and she shifted in the hold. "I'm tougher than I look," she reminded him, voice quiet. Her forehead pressed harder against his shoulder and something itched at the back of Dimitri's brain. A faint memory of what that gesture meant in _her_ language, but he couldn't remember it. 

Instead of trying to figure it out, he pulled back to look her in the eye. "Yeah, no. You were standing next to a _bomb_, Kinley," he threw back at her," We almost lost you. I almost lost my friend and the last words I said would've been ones of hate."

Kinley pulled back as well. Her good hand rubbed hastily at her face, rubbing away the tears but not the signs of them having fallen. "You really mean that?" she asked quietly. 

"Which part?" he asked right back," Because yes."

That earned a chuckle out of her and a fresh burst of tears. "Ass," she swore at him, then clarified," The part about being friends."

"Yes."

She jostled a bit, then her hand was reaching out to pinch his arm. Hard. "If we're friends, then you're a really shitty one." He yelped -that hurt!- and rubbed at the area, but yeah... 

"I deserved that," he admitted," I'll try and work on it." 

"And I hereby permanently revoke your invitation to the Battaglias on the account of douchebaggery."

As much as the words might've stung any Battaglia clan member, to Dimitri they were an olive branch. He may never get Kinley's trust back, but if she was willing to sass with him and call him friend, then that at least was a step in the right direction. Once upon a time, Kinley might've been his sister-in-law and while that bridge was burned, he would accept the title 'friend'.

"I think I can live with that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
дурь несусветная (dur' nesusvetnaya): (Russian) Bullshit


	41. Spirits of the Earth

Jason was sitting on a roof somewhere in downtown NYC when he got the text. _"Second surgery went well. I think. I'm gonna get a physical therapist assigned to me and everything."_

That was good news. Taking his helmet off so he could get some fresh air, Jason set it down on the rooftop beside him and texted Pterodactyl back. _"Good. Get some rest and let me know how you're feeling in the morning."_ It was strange, knowing that for once they were in the same time zone and that where it was nighttime here, it was the same for her. 

But then she texted back,"_ I don't want to sleep. Keep me distracted until Shantelle and Annie get here?"_

Part of Jason wanted to ask why she didn't want to sleep. But then another part of him knew what it was like to spend the night in the hospital after something like yesterday, where you're alone and everything makes noise. So instead of texting back, he dialed her number. 

**"Well this works too,"** she sounded a little bit too chirpy for someone who just came out of surgery. 

"I figured it would."

Then the reason for her mood became clear.** "Guess who showed up in my hospital room with a black eye and apologies?"**

Jason grinned and leaned back on his free hand. "_Please_ tell me Shantelle punched Dimitri in the face."

* * *

Two days after the clinic, Coco walked in to Kinley's hospital room and promptly froze at the sight of Dimitri. "Oh, you're still here," she commented dryly, looking entirely unimpressed with him. 

He sighed," Yeah, I probably deserved that," while Kinley grinned at the interaction. 

"Oh, and he admits it!" Coco howled," Are you becoming self aware that you're a Grade A asshole?" Her hand was propped on her hip, manicured nails bright purple against her wide belt, and she stared him down with a glare. In the face of a 5'10" black woman's anger, Dimitri decided his pride was not worth the fight. 

"I'll come back later," he stood up, abandoning his spot in the chair. 

"Dimitri, sit down," Kinley ordered and he froze like a deer in headlights. Realizing that she'd used her firm voice -she hadn't meant to order him- her next words came out softer," I'd like you here for this conversation."

But she went right back to her King voice when addressing Coco," And you, stop harassing him. Whatever issues Dimitri and I have, we're working through them, _without your interference._" It was definitely an order, clear and concise that Coco was to drop the matter. 

Coco thought a moment and looked between the two of them. Now that she knew of it, Kinley noticed how her gaze kept flickering to a space in the center of the room, eyes smoothly following an invisible line between all three of them, then back. Coco was reading the bonds, those little strands of light she told Kinley about. 

She wondered what Coco saw there.

At her side, Dimitri resumed his post in the chair. Coco begrudgingly took the uncomfortable wooden one and dragged it over to Kinley's other side. "So why does _he_ need to be here?" she asked. 

Kinley shot her a look, but then Dimitri was also asking," What conversation _do_ I need to be here for?"

"I'm telling her about Ex."

His eyes widened in alarm," You can't mean-"

Coco leaned forward in her seat," I thought you were going to tell me about that weird calling thing you did with your phone?"

"Kinley, I don't think that's a good idea," Dimitri leaned in from her other side," You know what can happen if-"

She hit him in the face with a pillow. "Mmff!" he was cut off with a face full of fabric while Coco crowed in laughter. "You can't tell me jack-shit, Dimitri," Kinley told him without an ounce of regret," I wanted your help in explaining it, but if you're gonna try and tell me what I can or can't tell my friends, then you know where the door is."

"I'm not telling you _no_," he frowned over the top of the pillow," I'm just worried if it's _safe_ to tell her everything."

"It's only Ex."

Coco butted in," I don't know who this X-person is or what he has to do with the whole hostage things, but now I'm curious." Her firm look wasn't as impressive to Kinley as she thought, looking more of a pout. "So you better start explaining or I'm telling Stan you're not allowed any more rum-neats."

Kinley and Dimitri exchanged glances. What exactly they were communicating, she didn't know, but it was telling to their years of friendship that they managed to have an entire conversation without a single word. After a long sigh on Dimitri's part -following a triumphant eyebrow raise on Kinley's part- he started," Ex isn't a person. He's a Spirit."

...Well if that didn't just sound like the biggest crock of bullshit ever. And Coco let them know as well. Dimitri was not impressed. "You live in Gotham," he said, deadpan," If you can live in the same city as a woman who is literally half plant, then you can believe in Spirits."

"I make it a rule not to believe in ghosts," she sniffed. 

Dimitri looked like he wanted to smother her with the pillow in his hands, so Kinley took her turn. "Ex isn't a ghost," she explained," He's, and I do mean this literally, the Spirit of _Expression_." To elaborate, she held up her new phone which pulsed a soft green color. "Musical Expression, to be exact. We just call him Ex for short."

"A... what?" Coco stared. "You lost me."

Kinley set the phone down and tried a different approach. "You know how there are different concepts or aspects that are universal? Some are emotions like Love, Hate, Envy, or Joy."

Dimitri threw in," Or metaphysical like Time, Chaos, Justice, and Order."

"When these things came into existence, they came into physical being as well," Kinley said. Her fingers were softly tapping her phone while she spoke," Some concepts are newer than others. Time is the oldest of all, much older than emotions. Musical Expression didn't exist until humans learned to use noise to make music, and then later used that music to express their emotions."

There was movement as Dimitri stood up and walked around the bed towards the door. Just as he flicked the lights off, Kinley said," And from that, a Spirit was born."

She was holding a light in her hand.

Coco stared at it with bated breath. No... Kinley wasn't _holding_ it per say... It floated above her carefully cupped palm, nestled between her fingers like a floating dandelion puff. Amazed, Coco found herself leaning closer to see. What she thought was a light, she was surprised to see wasn't a light at all. It was just... reflecting a soft green color, like the reflection on smoke. The edges of it blurred and waved, shifting so smoothly with a pulse like a tide of water. But it remained contained and kept swirling back onto itself. It made her think of fire and water and smoke; it had no defined edge like smoke, it moved like water, and pulsed like a living and breathing fire. 

There was a quiet humming in the room. 

With great care, Kinley handed it over to Dimitri's hands. It -_Ex_\- slid between her fingers like water before settling into Dimitri's cupped palms. "This is the closet he can get to physical form," he explained, tilting his hands so she could see him but wary about moving Ex closer, keeping his cupped hands close to his chest," But he can still affect matter around him, specifically sound waves and electrical energy."

The humming grew louder. 

"Music," Coco breathed.

The two of them nodded in encouragement. "Exactly," Kinley smiled," Ex can tune in on the emotions and hearts of people around him, then he expresses those feelings with music." She tapped her phone and Dimitri lowered his hands to it. The light began to dim between his fingers as Ex slipped out and back into the phone. "That's why he prefers to live in my phone," Kinley exlained," There he has a whole library of music to chose from."

Her own mini DJ living in her phone. 

Dimitri crossed the room again to switch the lights back on and Coco blinked viciously in the brightness. "And you just..." she gestured at Kinley, still trying to grasp this whole... _thing_,"... found it one day? Or some voodoo witch doctor gave you a Spirit and you decided to what exactly? Become its honorary caretaker?"

Kinley grinned toothily at the expression, a knowing expression flashing across her face. "Something like that," she said," No voodoo witch doctor though. My brother Trent originally discovered Ex, back when I was a teenager, in our school's orchestra room."

Dimitri looked puzzled," The haunted one?"

She laughed wickedly. "Is that the story he told you?" she cackled," Oh Dimitri, I'm about to give you _such_ epic blackmail material. " At his doubtful expression, she began telling the tale of Ex's discovery. "Remember when I said Ex focuses on feelings and emotions? And that he can affect sound waves? Well when I found him, Ex was trying to teach himself to play physical instruments."

"Violins and cellos playing by themselves is creepy enough as it is. Now imagine a bunch of kids daring each other to go into the 'haunted orchestra room' and there's a little spirit in there that wants to _express their emotions._"

Coco grinned; she could see where this was going.

"Oh yeah, it was great. A bunch of scared kids wander into a dark room.. and then the violin in the corner starts playing the _perfect_ creepy, horror movie music!"

Kinley guffawed," My brother screamed like a little girl and fucking _ran_ like the wind. Funniest thing I've ever seen in my life!"

"Trenton never told it quite that way," Dimitri said dryly," He still hates the sound of violins." A real shame too, as Dimitri had always been a fan of the arts. It had been amusing later on when he finally explained why he'd never gone to concerts with his boyfriend.

"And you just _knew_ it was a Spirit?" Coco asked," And not a ghost?"

"More or less, instinct really," Kinley shrugged," It took some time to figure out he was Musical Expression, but by then we already knew it was friendly. I offered him my phone and all the music he wanted, and he's been with me ever since."

"And the whole phone call thing?"

"Ex understands words, even if he can't speak them," Dimitri explained that one," Since he can manipulate electrical energy, it stands to reason he can operate a phone. Scroll through apps, play music, make a phone call and make beeping noises."

"And the police were just too dumb to realize he was using morse code," the sigh Coco gave off was equal parts frustration and resignation," Why am I not surprised?"

* * *

Dimitri stayed late in the day, helping answer questions Coco had about Ex and Spirits (of which she had many) and having to explain why he now had a flip phone. The face Kinley made when she learned he got it from Red Robin was... well it was hard to place, but he suspected that Red was probably in the same boat as him. 

Then Shantelle and Annie showed up. 

"Nice eye, jackass," the dark haired woman, who Dimitri now knew as Shantelle Ellis, snorted upon entering the room and seeing that the black eye she gifted him with still there. While the stout little blonde next to her reprimanded her, Coco openly laughed.

Dimitri scowled at her. "You broke my glasses," he said, remembering the feeling of her first hit making them fly off his face. Then in his confusion (wondering what that was for and where did his glasses go) she punched him again, resulting in his new eye 'makeup'. 

"Be happy I didn't break your legs," she snapped back at him. 

From the hospital bed, Kinley spoke quietly but firmly," Shantelle..." It was warning enough and Shantelle let it drop with a huff. Didn't stop her from glaring at him from across the room as she leaned against the counter though. The blonde, Annie, walked over and handed Kinley a canvas bag of her stuff. She set it off to the side of the bed, but Dimitri noticed her silver laptop tucked away in there. 

"Gelert's fed and watered," Annie reported," Misses you though. He keeps trying to get out of the apartment and I'm pretty sure he chewed up the leg to your table..."

Kinley made a face as if she half expected this. She knew dogs almost better than she did humans, Dimitri knew. "He doesn't do so well alone," she murmured and asked if he could stay with them until she got out of the hospital. 

Annie shook her head sadly," No can do honey. I've got clinicals this week, and Shantelle's putting in extra hours at the shop."

Then Dimitri found himself blurting out," I'll do it."

Four sets of eyes turned to stare at him, with varying degrees of surprise. Swallowing hard, he repeated," I'll watch him for you."

It was a long shot. A _very_ long one. But he was trying to earn Kinley's trust back, damnit, this would have to help, right? Shantelle seemed to agree. Sorta. "Not a bad idea," she grinned toothily," If we're lucky he'll rip out his throat just like he did his last owner."

Not exactly reassuring. Did Kinley adopt a murderous dog?_ 'Maybe this wasn't such a good idea...'_ he thought. 

But then Kinley was nodding and her brown eyes looked so expectantly up at him. "Dogs are good judges of character," she hummed, and yep, there was fortune cookie Kinley again. Dimitri breathed a sigh of relief._ 'Baby steps, Dimitri. Baby steps.' _

So it was of course instant karma that when he stepped out into the hall, looking down at Red Robin's phone to send a quick text (_"Do you want your phone back or not?"_), he immediately walked into a person.

"_Shit_!" / "Sorry!" they both exclaimed at the same time, as both phone and coffee hit the floor. Dimitri snatched up the phone before it could get wet, but the coffee was a total loss. "пиздец (pizdets)! I'm sorry!" he cried. Godsdamn, it was everywhere! This wasn't exactly a busy hallway, but instinctively he looked around for something to mop it up with. Luckily, a nurse was already there with a handful of paper towels for them. 

_Shit_. What if he made the other guy spill coffee all over himself? None of it got on Dimitri, but he hadn't been the one holding the cup. Feeling all out of sorts, he accepted the paper towels and turned to the other person. "Are you o-"

His query died in his throat. 

"I'm sorry, I should've been watching where I was going," the other guy was saying, with the most apologetic look on his face even though Dimitri had been the one to run into him," I really hope I didn't get coffee on you. It was really hot."

Dimitri knew exactly who this was. And пиздец (pizdets), this was not what he was expecting. 

"Is your phone okay? It didn't break, did it?" Tim fucking Drake asked, looking all worried about him, Dimitri Shukis.

"Huh?" said man blinked._ 'Words, Dimitri, **use** them.'_ "Yeah, it's okay," he quickly recovered, murmuruing," I think," as he inspected the phone. It was a sturdy little flip phone, and he didn't think Red Robin would give him a flimsy one. "Are _you_ okay?" he asked and looked him over for any coffee stains. 

"I'm sorry about your coffee. I could get you..." he started to offer replacing the lost coffee before he remembered just who he was speaking to,"... a new one?" Right... this man made more in a day than Dimitri did in a month...

"That's okay," Tim Drake smiled and maybe he meant for it to be reassuring, but considering who it was, Dimitri wasn't comforted," I actually got it from the waiting room down the hall. You probably just saved me from drinking watered down hospital coffee."

The coffee in the waiting room was watered down, Dimitri could attest to that. But it also came out of the dispenser nearly boiling. It was _insanely_ lucky no one got burned. But what was Timothy freaking Drake-Wayne doing drinking hospital coffee?

"You must've been in a hurry," he was saying.

He was... nicer than Dimitri expected. But it wasn't the first time he's met 'nice' rich people. "Just heading home after a long day," he explained," Still, I apologize for running into you and will be more careful in the future." Dimitri made sure to keep his voice carefully neutral and polite, yet for some reason it made Mr. Drake suddenly frown. 

_Now_ what had he done wrong?

"It's okay," Mr. Drake repeated," Really. As long as no one got hurt."

No one except for Dimitri's ego and maybe his job if Mr. Drake took enough offense. He's seen it before. When he didn't reply past a curt head nod, Mr. Drake held out his hand and tried another smile (Dimitri tried to pretend he hated it)," I'm Tim Drake, by the way."

"I know," Dimitri blurted out before he could stop himself, causing Mr. Drake's smile and hand to fall. пиздец (pizdets), that came out harsher than he meant to! "I uh, work with Vicki Vale," he added quickly, as if that both explained and excused his rudeness but knowing it really didn't. "Dimitri Shukis," he held out his own hand in apology and greeting. Mr. Drake accepted it. It was a strong, firm handshake, and Dimitri worried his own grip might've been a little too tight. 

He was _trying_ not to let past prejudices affect him anymore. 

"I know," the corner of Mr. Drake's lips curled. 

"Oh," was Dimitri's reaction. Was he mocking him for his earlier faux paux? Mr. Drake's eyes widened momentarily, as if he couldn't believe he'd just said that, then just as Dimitri had done, he quickly added," Sorry, I just couldn't resist. I do recognize your name though. You covered the G.U. Ballet Company's rendition of La Bayadère a while ago."

Dimitri remembered it. G.U. Ballet Company was known for its lavish sets and frighteningly strict regulations for authenticity. As such, the play was rife with intricate stage props, backgrounds, and near authentic period costumes. Wertz had covered the article about the Company's opening night, but Dimitri had jumped at the chance to photograph it and its castmembers. 

He hadn't expected anyone to remember the photographer. 

"Do you... like ballet?" he ventured a guess. 

If his question offended Mr. Drake, it did not show. "No, but my sister does," he said," I took her to go see opening night. She loved watching it from so close."

Yeah, that sounded about right for a Wayne. Dimitri had gotten in via media pass, but even still he had gawked at the price of the tickets. And that was just for balcony seating. He dreaded to think what front row pricing looked like. 

"I'm more interested in photography actually. I really liked that one backshot you took, from behind the protagonist, where she was outlined with stagelights and was just a silhouette but the audience was visible. It was such a mix of light and dark, what ISO did you use?"

Oh.

Dimitri blinked. Such an elegant reply. But for a moment there, his brain decided to take a short break. Tim Drake-Wayne liked photography? And he was knowledgeable in it? Somewhere in the back of his mind, he had the mental image of a woman with massive black hair and ancient armour rolling her eyes and going,' I know you're not this dense.' But Dimitri was steadfastly ignoring her, instead trying to comprehend the simple fact that Timothy Drake-Wayne was a fan of photography.

"No camera today though, I see," Mr. Drake was still talking, gesturing to Dimitri's clearly empty hands," Are you visiting someone?"

The reminded of why he was here in the first place was like a bucket of ice water poured right on top of him. "No," he said slowly," Well, yes, actually. I mean, yes I'm visiting, but no I don't have my camera today." At least none of the five he owned. He glanced back at the room he just left and wondered why _he_ was here.

This was a quiet wing. Most of the rooms in this unit were empty save for Kinley and a few others who'd been in the clinic with her. What was a member of the Wayne family doing here?

What was a member of _his_ family doing here?

When he focused on Mr. Drake again, he noticed the other man's gaze was also on the door. There was an unreadable expression on his face, contemplating _something_ but Dimitri could only guess. 

He wondered if Mr. Drake knew who was in there. And if he knew _exactly_ who Dimitri was...

Mr. Drake didn't appear to though, as he didn't stare at Dimitri like he was some side-show exibition. They were both distracted though when a woman in a pant suit walked up. "I have those papers you asked for, Mr. Drake," she said, completely bypassing Dimitri," With HIPAA compliance I cannot give you any patient information, up to and including patient names. But this should be necessary forms to take responsibility for any medical expenses."

He nodded and accepted the thick folder she held out to him. Baby blue eyes drifted over to Dimitri, then past him to Kinley's door. "I would just like confirmation that the patient in RM 432 is included in this," he spoke, his voice polite but so much more businesslike than when he was speaking to Dimitri.

Then his words registered in said man's mind," Wait, what?"

Pants-suit lady was already confirming it, then just as fast as she'd approached them she was off, presumably for more hospital legal duties. Mr. Drake bid her goodnight and when he turned back around, he found Dimitri glaring at him. 

He seemed surprised. 

"Forgive my rudeness, Mr. Drake," Dimitri spoke in the prim and proper voice he was raised with, hostility dripping from every word," But is there any particular reason for your interest in the patient in RM 432?"

Mr. Drake blinked rapidly at his sudden change in tone, his eyes flickering over to the RM432. Dimitri expected him to flounder, to stumble for an answer that wouldn't sound sketchy as hell, to give Dimitri a reason to just _tear_ into him.

Instead, his reply was," Leslie Thompkins is a dear friend of the family." Mr. Drake looked at him as if it were obvious," And Kinley Battaglia saved her life. Paying for her medical costs is the least we can do."

That... made sense, and Dimitri felt a bit scolded for assuming otherwise. But he still held his ground. "And what about everyone else in the clinic?" he frowned at the rich Gothamite," Or is Kinley just the best opportunity you have for a PR piece?"

Now, Mr. Drake floundered a bit. "No, I..." he opened and shut his mouth a few times," We're taking on the bill for everyone involved in the explosion. Not just... it's not for any PR or anything. I just... we all..." Then he seemed to gather himself and stood to a firmer height, thought still not as tall as Dimitri," Did I do something to piss you off or something?"

"No," Dimitri deflated, suddenly realizing that he was being kind of an ass," Not... not you personally. I'm sorry, I just..." _'Really hate your family,'_ he thought, but out loud said," I apologize for my comments."

Mr. Drake eyed him for his sudden change of heart, but didn't comment on it. "Okay," he hummed, then a sly little smile quirked the corners of his mouth," Is that offer for a new coffee still available? I know of a great waiting room where it's freshly brewed."

........................

пиздец (pizdets): (Russian) Damnit


	42. Damian Gets Curious

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright folks, I'm extending a bit of trivia to all of you. This story plays out like a RUBIX cube. Six sides, six mysteries. Each mystery has its own set of clues, some of which I have already dropped. 
> 
> I'm curious as to who's solved them already. 
> 
> 1\. What is Kinley Battaglia?  
2\. Who exactly is Dimitri Shukis?  
3\. Why are the Battaglias in Gotham?
> 
> Sides 4,5, and 6 are surprises.

Mr. Drake blew on his coffee for all of two seconds before drinking the scalding mixture. Dimitri watched it all in horror, knowing full well that the coffee was near boiling but unable to look away from the terrible sight before him. "That's-" he coughed," That's a good way to burn your throat, Mr. Drake." 

Mr. Drake made a face, but not at the coffee. "I'd rather you just call me Tim," he said," That's what everyone else calls me."

Dimitri wasn't too sure how he felt about that. (He ended up calling him Tim anyways.)

* * *

"I'm sorry for any confusion earlier," Tim suddenly blurted out after refilling his coffee cup a second time. When Dimitri blinked at him in confusion, he elaborated," When you got mad at me for the whole medical bills and stuff. You were just defending your girlfriend-"

Dimitri suddenly inhaled some of his spit, launching into a coughing fit that went entirely unnoticed.

"-which I get, I really do," Tim continued on with a frantic wave of his hand," I mean, I'd be pretty upset too if some random guy came up to my girlfriend's hospital room and offered to pay all her bills."

'_Ohhhh boy,_' Dimitri groaned internally and externally, rubbing a hand over his face. Hard. "How..." he groaned," How do I put this?" He made a face and looked up at Tim," She is not my girlfriend. We are not dating. Not even _close_."

One: Way too much history between the two of them to ever consider a relationship. She was almost his _sister_ for pete's sake!  
Two: Dimitri's had to listen for the past two days as Coco and Shantelle wax poetry about this Dorito Chip guy and if he didn't know any better, Dimitri would think he was already dating Kinley.  
Three: said Dorito Chip guy would fucking _castrate_ him.  
And four:...

Tim looked a little ashamed at assuming. "I'm sorry, I just thought- well, it seemed like-"

"I'm gay!" Dimitri exclaimed. 

"Oh..." Tim froze, like a deer in headlights, and was he... was his face turning a little red? "So you're..."

"Outraaaaaageously gaaaaay," he reiterated, drawing it out like a bad cartoon," Not even the tiniest bit straight." As Tim's face grew even redder and eyes widened, Dimitri mistook his shock for outrage. And in true Diabolical Dimitri fashion, he grinned viciously and leaned forward. Then with his hottest drawl (for some reason, Americans just loved his accent) he spoke in a low voice," I hope that doesn't offend your delicate, high-society sensibilities." He threw in a quick wink for good measure. 

(Once upon a time, in an era before he met Trenton Battaglia, he would've been terrified to even mention his homosexuality. Especially to someone of higher class. Now he took great delight in watching them suffer.)

Tim Drake's face was red and he was biting the inside of his cheek; he tried to distract himself by taking a sip of his ridiculousy hot coffee. "Not-" his voice squeaked," Not in the slightest." Dimitri chuckled in the face of his bewilderment. Thoroughly embarrassed, Tim cleared his throat. "I'm just surprised, is all," he muttered into his coffee, along with something else. (Dimitri couldn't be sure but he could've sworn he heard the word 'gaydar' in there)

Leaning back out of Tim's space, he hummed thoughtfully. "You're taking it better than some people I once met in D.C." It had been before he moved back to Gotham, before the incident in NYC. Trent had convinced him to tag along to a dinner of sorts, one of the Battaglia fundraising campaigns, to try and get Dimitri interested in that aspect of Battaglia culture. He and Trent arrived as a couple, some choice words were said, a bowl of soup had been thrown, and at least five politicians, lawyers, and their wives had been escorted out by an army of Battaglia 'cousins'.

One of the best nights of his life. 

"Well I should hope so," Tim said back at him, now -sadly- without his face so red," That would be hypocritical of me."

"Wait-" Now _that_, Dimitri had not been expecting. "You're-"

"Bi," Tim grinned," Outrageously so."

* * *

_'Why'd he have to be cute?'_ Dimitri lamented to himself for the fifth time as he inserted the key into the lock,_' He couldn't be ugly and rude. Noooo! The universe just **had** to make Tim Drake-Wayne fucking hot **and** bi!'_ Because he couldn't be straight either, giving Dimitri the perfect reason to just_ let it go._ After leaving the hospital and steadfastly _not_ telling Mr. Drake (Tim, his name is Tim) that he'll see him around, Dimitri headed straight for Kinley's apartment because he made a promise damnit. 

Even before opening the door, he could hear the sounds of a dog on the other side, snuffling at the door. The door was solid, he could see, with no gap between the bottom of the door and the floor. But as soon as he got the door opened (_'Three locks. Really, Kinley?_') Dimitri finally got to meet Gelert. 

Gelert...

...was a big dog. His head came up above Dimitri's hip, and deep down Dimitri knew that if this dog stood on his hind legs he'd be taller than him. The dog stood a ways back from the foyer, not expecting someone new to open the door, and so stared at him warily and growled low. Dimitri froze in the doorway. _'What have I gotten myself into?'_ he wondered not for the first time. 

Dimitri didn't know dogs as well as Kinley, but he knew a german shepherd mix when he saw one. Though none of the german shepherds he's ever seen before were this big. Gelert was fluffy with silky long fur, and more black than tan. Had he not been growling at Dimitri, he might've been tempted to bury his hands in that soft-looking fur and just cuddle all day. 

_'We'll work up to it,'_ he decided. 

Remembering what Trent taught him about dogs, Dimitri slowly lowered himself so he was in a crouch. He couldn't maintain it very long and ended up stumbling backwards onto his butt, his leg shooting out from under him and hitting the wooden floor with a crack. The noise caused both of them to jump, but Gelert was more confused than wary at this point. 

Going, " Fuck it," Dimitri held out his hand to the dog, palm down and fingers loose, and said," Do _not_ bite me. I promise I'm a friend." While he doubted the dog could understand his words, he was relieved to find Gelert slowly approaching him. There was some tentative sniffing of his hand (_'Please don't bite my hand off, I need that limb.'_) and then-

"Oof!" All the air was knocked out of him when Gelert proceeded to barrel him right over onto his back. A wet slobbery tongue attacked his face and then Gelert proceeded to just _lay down_ on top of him and not move. 

"This is _not_ how you...," Dimitri scowled at him and tried to push the massive dog off him," Let me up you giant fluff monster."

Gelert licked his face again.

* * *

**"Kinley Battaglia"**

Damian finished typing in the name and waited for the results. It didn't take long, however the difficult part was the 5-10 Kinley Battaglia's that popped up. He scowled when he saw the excess of information: this was supposed to be a simple background check.

_'Oh well,'_ he grumbled and closed his laptop,_' There are other ways.'_

* * *

Gotham General was actually very easy to break into. Their security was laughable, relying entirely on horribly placed cameras and badge readers. Damian walked around the lower level with ease, passing by a door that said 'Blood Lab' and thought about how easy it'd be to do some serious damage to this hospital. But he wasn't looking for damage tonight; he was looking for information. 

There was an entire hallway dedicated to 'Medical Records', protected only by locked doors and a single badge reader. There wasn't even a single camera down here, just a fake little black dome attached to the ceiling to act as a placebo. He scowled as he picked the lock to a supervisor's door. 

They _really_ should update their security.

Because it really only took three seconds for him to open the door, slip inside, and lock it behind him. It took him 30 seconds to log in to their computer (who tapes their password to the bottom of their keyboard?!) and two minutes to find patient files._ 'Such incompetence,'_ he thought of it all. 

"Works in my favor, though," he grinned. There were a couple Battaglias in the system, 3 of which actually worked here, but only one Kinley, middle name Hypatia. 

Damian paused a moment, trying to remember where he'd heard the name Hypatia before. Ah, the Egyptian philosopher. He couldn't remember much of what Hypatia was known for -mathematics he thought, and the usual martyrdom of ancient philosophers- but he knew she'd been considered a great mentor. 

Unfortunately, medical records weren't show-all, tell-all for someone's identity. But it helped that he now had a full name, birthdate, and mother's name (an Anthea Battaglia). Damian was just about to close out of the program when he noticed the words 'surgery', 'radial', 'neuropraxia', and 'axonotmesis'.

He remembered seeing the weird angle of her arm, of Dr. Thompkins' specifically pointing it out. At the time, Damian had just assumed it was a broken bone. He hadn't realized that it meant nerve damage.

Damian slipped back out of the office, leaving everything just the way it had been. The medical records hall was easy enough, he just had to make sure the doors closed behind him. They locked automatically and again, no cameras. 

He was almost out of the hospital completely when he saw a flash of red. Damian froze, hidden behind a pillar, and watched as Red Robin waltzed through the lobby without a care in the world._ 'What is Drake doing here?'_ he wondered,_' And in his suit no less?'_

It was... odd, to say the least. Drake was occupied and didn't notice Robin hiding in the shadows, too busy was he walking and looking at his tablet at the same time. It was only when he paused, looked up at the ceiling, and took an unexpected sidestep that Damian realized. Drake was linked in to the hospital cameras and walking in the blind spots. The ease with which he did so showed there were many. 

But then he deftly went around a seemingly dark corner, opting for a well lit path across a desk, Damian felt his heart sink; he'd walked _right_ through that dark spot. He hadn't expected there to be a camera aimed there!

Instead of taking the stairs down like Damian expected him to, Drake took the main elevator up. It stopped on the 4th floor. Damian considered following after him, his curiosity _burning_ because it just didn't make any sense for Red Robin to be interested in the 4th floor. There were only patient rooms on the 4th floor, nothing of note.

But he couldn't. Drake was watching the cameras. 

If he followed after him, he would be seen. Then he would have to explain why he was here in the first place. Then Drake would tell Father and he'd be grounded from patrol. And he really wanted to go on patrol tonight; Father was going to visit GC Dispatch Center.

Besides, he had other people to investigate.

* * *

Kinley was a light sleeper, always had been, probably always will be. It was part of why she never slept much. It was hard to sleep soundly when the smallest of footsteps out in the hall could wake her up. Gelert was a snorer, which would take some getting used to. And hospitals beeped, which did nothing to lull her to sleep. 

So she occupied herself with talking to Dorito.** "I'm not sure how I feel about Dimitri taking care of Gelert while you're in the hospital,"** he was saying. He had the phone on speaker, where in the background Kinley could hear a TV.

"Well I can't exactly keep him here in my hospital room," she told him," They tend to frown on dogs being in the ICU."

**"Couldn't your neighbors watch him?"**

"They're too busy, and Annie's been putting in extra hours for her clinicals. Dimitri's job is flexible, so he has more opportunity to bring Gelert on his daily walks."

**"I still don't trust him with Gelert."** Now he just sounded pouty. 

It made Kinley smile, imagining a little pout on Dorito's face, his bottom lip sticking out just the tiniest bit and the lines in his jaw tight. "Last I checked, Gelert was my dog and not yours. My dog, my call." Dorito grumbled something that didn't quite come across all the way over the phone. "Why are you so against Dimitri helping feed and walk him for a couple days?"

There was a brief clatter (that sounded like stuff being thrown down onto a table) then Dorito declared,"** With how many pictures I have of Gelert, I feel like he's at least partly my dog too. Did you know I have him as my phone's background?"**

That was terribly sweet. 

**"And are you forgetting that Dimitri was a complete asshole a few months ago?"** he reiterated,"** Remember, the same guy who told you to fuck off, sent you into a month-long downspin, ruined your friendship with Red Robin? Almost ruined _our_ friendship?"**

No, she didn't forget. Kinley remembered. She would probably always remember. Even if she forgave Dimitri, understood his reasons, in the back of her mind she'd always wonder. Always wonder what would drive him away again. Always waiting for the other shoe to drop, for that call to come again, telling her to disappear and never come back. 

"I know," her voice was quiet and morose, but he heard her all the same," But I can't place all the blame at his feet."

**"Well why the hell not?"** Dorito asked, sounding just so frustrated,"** He still did all those things. Sounds a lot like it's his fault."**

_(She remembered thinking, back at that burning school: It would burn him from the inside out. Burn out his very soul and leave him nothing more than a husk of what he once was. _

_But she went ahead and did it anyways.)_

Kinley bit her tongue; closed her eyes and took a deep breath. How she so wanted to tell him the truth. Wanted to tell him her name, who she was, her history, and what she's done. That it wasn't just Dimitri's fault, that she started it, that it was all so much more than that. 

But then she remembered wearing a white dress and burning it to ash. 

She couldn't risk it.

"There's a lot of history there," she instead told him," A lot that I can't forget." Dorito made a growly sound, a deep rumbling sound that made her understand his anger more than words really could. "I'm not saying I've forgiven him, but I can't hate him."

Dorito grumbled some more, a little growly, a little pouty. "You can grumble all you want; he's still watching the dog." 

Somewhere in the background she heard Smiley yell out,"** I'll watch the dog! I have at least third of custody!"**

**"I wouldn't trust you with a goldfish!**" Dorito snapped at him. 

Kinley chuckled at the dramatics on the other end of the line, so bemused that she almost didn't notice the door to her hospital room slowly opening. There was no sound, no telltale of the latch clicking, but that red suit was unmistakable as Red Robin slipped inside and silently shut the door behind him. The curtains were pushed to one side, giving them both clear view of each other. 

Red didn't make a sound, just quietly walking forward so he could stand at the end of her bed, a little off to the side, where he proceeded to shift awkwardly on his feet. It was hard to tell with the cowl covering half his face, but the whiteout lenses of his mask looked at her almost expectantly. 

"Hmmmm," Kinley hummed, the phone still pressed to her ear but her eyes set firmly on Red Robin. He didn't say anything, but she wasn't imagining that guilty little frown on his face. "What are you here for?" she asked, her voice going solid and firm, the voice of a woman who expects to be heard and not questioned. 

He wouldn't be here if he didn't need something. Red Robin doesn't do visits anymore. Yet he stayed stubbornly quiet. "I have nothing to say to you," Kinley told him in no uncertain terms," If you want information, go find Dr. Thompkins."

**"Huh? Who's there?"** Dorito said in her ear, his voice going all sorts of worried. 

At the same time, Red Robin cocked his head, motioning to the phone with a tilt of his head. "Can we talk?" he asked her," It's... it's not about the clinic."

Kinley eyed him warily. If he wasn't here for the clinic case, then what was he here for? Information surely, but did he really expect for her to help him anymore? There was a small chance this could be about Crime Alley. Kinley's been out of commission for a few days, and while the King rumor has been gaining ground, the CASKet's been getting some backlash from the people who want to know who King was. 

Coco and Stan kept a low profile, but sometimes the men who felt slighted by Coco's poaching of the girls liked to fire back. Sometimes they rioted enough to draw attention, Coco said, but Red Hood had been good enough to keep them contained (or _down_).

Perhaps Red Robin was stepping up to that responsibility.

At her silence, Dorito's voice got low, sounding painfully similar to men of military she's worked with before.** "Are you okay? Who is it? Say 'nothing but ace' if it's someone dangerous."** Kinley thought it cute he had a code phrase ready. 

"No, I'm fine," she told him smoothly, keeping an eye on Red but not addressing him yet," It's just Red Robin dropping in."

Dorito let loose a whole slew of curse words, none of them angry but they sure sounded panicked.** "I gotta go,"** was the last thing he blurted out before he hung up._ 'Che cazzo?'_ Kinley blinked in surprise, tearing the phone away from her ear to look at it incredulously. A second later, she got a text from him. 

_"DO NOT TELL HIM ABOUT ME!! I'll explain later."_

Weirdly cryptic, but okay.

Setting her phone in her lap, Kinley looked up at Red Robin. He was waiting so patiently but so awkwardly, just standing there in the middle of the room. She almost wished he'd just sit down. "Sorry to interrupt your call," he apologized," Who was it?"

Kinley stared at him, silently telling him she wasn't going to tell him jack shit.

"Umm, family I'm guessing?" he guessed awkwardly.

"Your favorite people," she said smoothly, and enjoyed the little flinch he gave. Red shifted uncomfortably on his feet, painfully reminded of how their last conversation went all those months ago. She's not sure what he all found out, but it had to have been enough to send him running. "What do you need?" she asked again.

"A lot, apparently," he shrugged and sighed," But right now, nothing. I'm just... checking in." He motioned to her sling," How's the, umm, arm?"

A social visit. She would be happy if she wasn't questioning the hell out of it. "Two surgeries in to repair nerve damage, doctors are confident I'll get use of my hand again," she reported, conscise and bland," A sprained ankle, dislocated knee, and 27 stitches. Otherwise, I got lucky."

"That's good," he nodded, then grimaced," Well not 'good', not with your arm and all, but good that it's not worse. Dimitri made it sound like- well, I thought- but umm, I'm glad it's not... terrible?" He finished so pathetically, trying so hard not to sound hopeful or distraught and failing miserably. 

But he was young and awkward and Kinley was reminded -painfully- of that fact by his stumbling. Then she narrowed in on what he said. "Dimitri called you?" she questioned," Didn't realize you two were such... great... friends." The way she said it made her thoughts on the matter clear. 

"No, I..." Red frowned and shifted again on his feet," I was there... You... You wouldn't let me anywhere near you in the ambulance, so I asked... I asked Dimitri to keep me updated."

_'Well that explains where Dimitri got that flip phone.'_

"Are you sure you didn't come here for anything else?" she asked when it looked like he was reaching for more to talk about. Red shook his head. 

"Just... seeing how you were doing?"

Kinley hummed inconsequently. "And why do you care?" she couldn't help but ask.

"Is it really that bad if I just do?"

The line was just... so fucking _perfect_, that she had to bite her tongue to stop herself from bursting out into one loud," Hah!" He wasn't supposed to steal her line! Even if she didn't make a sound, some of her complete and utter _disbelief_ must've shown on her face, for Red Robin gave a heavy sigh and pulled up the uncomfortable wooden chair. 

"I messed up, I can admit that," he began. 

"You _accused_ me of being a supervillain!" Kinley grabbed the nearest non-heavy object, a box of tissues on the table by her bed, and hurled it at his head," Shoved a picture of my dead cousin in my face and asked if I was the one to murder him!" A gloved hand shot up to deflect the box of tissues, but he didn't get up from the chair. 

"I'm sorry, okay?!" he deflected the plastic spoon she aimed at him next with surprising accuracy," That was a dick move of mine, and I should've investigated a bit more before jumping to conclusions."

That seemed to mollify her a tiny bit, as the crumpled piece of paper was thrown at him with more of a pout than a glare. "You _are_ a dick, and an asshole, and a... a..." she seethed, looking for the words to properly describe how she felt about him," ...bastardo figlio di puttana!"

Red Robin reeled back in offense. "Now that is just uncalled for," he exclaimed and of _course_ Red spoke and understood Italian._ 'Good,'_ Kinley thought with bitter satisfaction. 

She opened her mouth to insult him more (it was always fun to yell at people in her native tongue) when he beat her to it. "Avevo paura di fidarmi di te," he said in a rush, his accent terrible and third-hand at best, but his words clear and concise. Kinley froze, struck dumb not only by his use of her language but the words themselves.

The little sigh he gave said he used Italian for the sole purpose of catching her off guard and was relieved that it worked. While she recovered from her shock, Red continued," In my family, in this profession, trust is... trust can be lethal."

While Kinley stared at him dubiously, he started listing off names.

"Dent, Elliot, Terra, Indigo, Dodge, Anarky, Azrael, the freaking Red Hood, I could go on, really. Want me to go through the whole list?"

Kinley stared at him a little bit more, thoughtful. There was still an unopened Jello she could chuck at his head, but her curiousity was piqued. "And what about them?" she asked warily. 

"People we trusted before," he said honestly. His head quirked to the side in the way she was starting to recognize as him staring into nothing while he thought and spoke out loud," People who we thought were friends, family, and then they either turned around and stabbed us in the back or went full-on supervillain." His hand went up and she saw how one thumb brushed lightly against the front of his throat. 

She wondered if he took off his cowl, would she find a scar there?

But then his hand went back to his lap and Red looked back at her. "And then Dimitri dropped all these hints about the Battaglias, and you were being so cagey about _everything_, and when I figured out it was Jonathon Battaglia, I just... I didn't want to get stabbed in the back again."

Kinley could understand. A long moment passed, and then...

"Zacharia, André, Nikkita," she started listing," Edmund and Eda, Clàrus" she paused and added with a huff," _Dimitri_."

While he had a feeling he already knew, but he had to ask. "And them?"

"People_ I_ trusted."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
Bastardo figlio di puttana: (Italian) Bastard son of a bitch  
Avevo paura di fidarmi di te: (Italian) I was afraid to trust you


	43. Alfred Comes A Calling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *gasp* A LONG chapter?!

It was the next morning before he got any note or text from Pterodactyl._ "Are you a supervillain? Is that why you freaked out when Red Robin showed up?"_

Flashback from his early Red Hood days dashed across his mind, but Jason steadfastly ignored them and texted back._ "No, I'm not a supervillain."_ Former crime lord? Yes. But not a supervillain. At least not anymore...

_"But that was kind of a supervillain move back there."_ He could almost hear her teasing tone.

_"I'm not a goddamn supervillain!"_

_"Ok Syndrome,"_ now he could definitely imagine her teasing tone as her text came back within two seconds. 

But one thing... _"What does that even mean?!"_

* * *

For the most part, it was an average day for the Gotham City Dispatch Center, with the normal amount of calls coming in and the dispatchers going about their jobs at their desks of 6+ monitors. For the most part, the cacophony was the average kind, with multiple voices speaking calmly and professionally. 

Until Commissioner Gordon threw open the door with a BANG! and stormed in. "Anderson! Cooper!" he bellowed with all the force of a tornado," Step outside! _Now!"_

Unfortunately for both Anderson and Cooper, neither were occupied by calls and were forced to step away from their desks. Eyes wide and fearful -they've never even _met_ the Commissioner before and now he was yelling at them- the two ladies shuffled out of the communal dispatcher room and into the hallway. Commissioner Gordon didn't say anything more, even when Cooper asked what this was about, instead just gesturing them towards their supervisor's office. 

Ingrid Kamenev's office was spacious, but even so it was crowded this November night. Kamenev sat at her large desk, expression dark, but the first thing they noticed was the large dark figure standing in the corner of the room by the window. 

The Batman was present and looking grim as ever. Even with the splash of color next to him that was Robin, his presence somehow made the entire office seem darker than it actually was. 

"Debra, Lauren, take a seat," Kamenev waved at the two chairs in front of her. Both women swallowed hard -jumped when the Commissioner slammed the door behind them- and slid into their seats. It was only then they noticed the fifth person a bit behind her, leaning against the bookcase with a frown and a sharp look in his eyes. 

Neither asked who he was; they could see the badge sitting on his belt. 

When the Commissioner took Kamenev's other side, he leaned forward and started rapping at the desk with his knuckles. 

Tap tap tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap tap tap. 

Lauren Cooper gulped. That... sounded familiar. 

"Do you know what that pattern is?" Gordon asked, teeth clenched. Both women did the smart thing and didn't answer. 

"It's the goddamn international code for S.O.S!" Kamenev was the one to answer, smacking her hand down on her desk with a BAM! Anderson and Cooper jumped in their seats. "And on October 27th, two _hours_ before three bombs went off at the Park Row Clinic, you two answered four incoming calls -_four!_\- with that message!"

In her fury, Kamenev stood up from her desk, now _screaming_ at her two dispatchers but no one moved to stop her. "And you two hung up on them!" she screamed," A hostage was calling 911, and _you hung up on them!_"

(If anyone bothered to glance in the back corner, they would've been able to see the tight little grin on Robin's face.)

"Not only does it go against policy for a dispatcher from _my_ fucking unit to hang up on a call, but I find it _extremely_ hard to believe that two women with combined ten years experience 'didn't know' the morse code for help," she continued," As of right now, you both are placed on suspension while Agent Lewis here," she gestured to the man behind her," of Internal Affairs will be conducting an investigation."

Both women paled. 

But Kamenev wasn't finished. "I hope you're both proud of yourselves," she said darkly," Because fourteen people are dead."

* * *

Jay was going to kill him if he found out. At best, he'd maim him and burn all his hats. Which is why Roy was hiding in a coffeeshop surrounded by at least a dozen people. Jason was a Bat through and through; he didn't care for large crowds and people in his personal bubble. If he didn't have a pressing need, he usually went out of his way to avoid places like this. 

Which Roy totally didn't understand. Humans are pack-associated, they _need_ interaction and touch and other people and he was worried Jason might just be a little bit touch-starved. Okay, a lot touch-starved. Which is why Roy made it a point to hug him and hang off him every chance he got. 

The fact that Roy was naturally a touchy-feely person himself and that he _liked_ the way Jason's back muscles moved when Roy hung off his shoulders was another matter entirely. (No, but seriously, those _deltoids_.)

But back to the coffee shop. He was here for a reason and he had a laptop in front of him and a phone in his hand. Taking one last deep breath for courage, he pressed dial. 

Jason was going to kill him if he found out. 

**"Hello?"** she answered on the second ring. 

Punctual, he liked that. "Umm, hi," he said lamely," Is this Kinley Battaglia?"

"**This is her,"** she replied and Roy had a teeny tiny little freakout because _holy_ _shit, he was right!_ A tiny part of him had hoped he was wrong and hadn't figured it out, but here she was confirming her name.

Roy was actually talking to Pterodactyl!

**"Are you okay?"** she asked when he didn't speak right away. 

"What? Yeah yeah, I'm okay. Why do you ask that right off the bat?" He was genuinely curious. 

**"Usually I only get calls from strange numbers if someone needs help. I don't get calls from telemarketers."**

"Umm, yeah, not a telemarketer." Those still existed?"

**"So if you're not a telemarketer and you're not in trouble, then who are you?"**

He just... blurted it out before he realized it. "Who says I'm not always looking for trouble? I happen to _like_ trouble." It was something he said to Jason all the time, teasing. Jay said since Roy likes trouble so much, he goes out looking for it. In reply, Roy's usual go to is to point out that Jason finds trouble more than him. 

("That's why you like me so much," Jay would say with a wink and a crooked grin," I'm trouble.")

**"... Smiley?"**

So... yeah.

"Ta-da?" he said pathetically.

**"What the _hell_ are you doing?"** Oh boy, she sound pissed.

"Umm, hi. Yeah, it's me," Roy smiled lamely, even though she couldn't see it. He took a long sip of his coffee so he wouldn't have to answer that question. That was okay, she filled the silence just fine on her own. 

**"And did you just call me by my name? How did you even find out who I am? What the _hell_ are you doing?!"** she repeated with vehemence**,"There's a _reason_ we kept our identities secret."**

Well now he felt a little bad, this was obviously upsetting her. But he had to make this call. He _had_ to. "Well to be honest, I kinda learned your name from all the news reports and it just snowballed from there."

There was an emphatic,**" Cazzo,"** from the other end of the line. Then after a brief pause, she asked,**" Does he know?"**

Roy didn't have to ask to know who she meant. "No," he told her," He knows I know, but not that I'm talking to you."

**"And just why are you calling me and confirming my name?"** Was it just him or did she sound just this side of nervous?

"I..." he frowned," I'm not really sure exactly. I had a reason, I did. I just... don't think it matters anymore."

Pterodactyl -_Kinley_\- made a sound like she wanted to say something in response to that, but held her tongue. 

In the busy, overflowing coffee shop, Roy fiddled with the lid of his cup, a passive expression on his face. "Do you realize how good you are for him?" he asked. 

**"...What?"**

In for a penny, in for a pound. So biting the bullet, he repeated," You're good for him. And I don't just mean as a pen pal sort of thing, but actually, truly, honestly _good_ for him." And wasn't that the shit? For the longest time, Roy thought only he and Kori could be good for Jason, who could give him the love he so obviously needed. But then Jason called him up one day in the middle of the night then showed up four hours later with stories of a girl in a train station and her ridiculous screeching. But then August happened and Roy had to steal a phone out of his friend's hands. But then-

"He's not exactly happy yet, but I don't think I've ever seen him this relaxed."

And that's after Roy's seen Jason lounging on a tropic beach for a full week. 

Kinley remained silent, but that didn't stop Roy. "It's more than just him leaving Gotham, which we can both agree did _wonders_ for his psyche. But you should see him; he's smiling and _taking pictures_ and I haven't heard a death joke in two months." And she might not know the significance behind that, but for _Jason_ to not be making death jokes...

**"I'm pretty sure you're a big reason for that,"** she argued,**" But... I'm glad he's doing better."**

_'You and me both, Ptero,'_ he thought with a wry smile. 

"So then _why_ do you two insist on keeping up this whole not knowing each other's names bullshit?!" Because God, it was so _frustrating_! Six months of watching Jason flirt through a series of texts and phone calls, and if Jason had his way it would go _nowhere_ despite how _good_ it could become. Sometimes Roy wanted to grip him by the collar of his shirt and just shake some sense into his friend and should that fail, then let _Kori_ have at him. 

He made an exasperated sound and earned some strange looks from the cafe's other occupants. "It just doesn't make any sense anymore! It's just stupid!"

**"Tell me how you really feel,"** Kinley drawled,**" Have you talked to Dorito about this?"**

Oh no, she was bringing out the 'therapist' voice. Jay warned him about that, mentioned she did it a lot; never knew why though. "Don't you go all 'therapist' on me, " Roy snapped at her," It _is_ stupid and I've said so to his face. I know _his_ reasons and I also know that he was more than ready to jump on a plane back to Gotham for you."

**"He may have been willing, but he was not ready."**

"Would you quit with the therapist voice?"

**"I can't help it!"** she shouted back at him and Roy had to scramble to lower his bluetooth's volume**," I speak how I think and this is how I think! And you can't say I'm wrong!"** Her voice quieted down again, causing him to adjust the volume again. **"I am sorry you two got caught up in that mess, that one is on me,"** and why did she sound like the Clinic Explosion was her fault?,**" But can you honestly tell me he could've come back to Gotham and been okay? Back to the city he fled from in the middle of the night, where he might come across the brother who is more than willing to put him in _Arkham_?"**

Roy paled. Arkham? Jason never mentioned anything about _Arkham_. Jay said he left Gotham because Dick was being a-

Oh.

Oh no. 

**"If you want him to stay happy, to keep getting better, then you have to keep him away from here."**

Then the line went dead. 

"Well fuck," Roy blurted out and got glared at by a mom with two kids.

* * *

On the morning of October 31st, the first day of Samhain, Michael Battaglia woke up at 6am to an incoming text. _"Wayne Gala, Nov 21st. I need an invitation and the guest list."_

He thought a moment, then texted back," I'll see what I can do."

* * *

"Sit."

Ace sat down at Alfred's side, head tilted and looking up at his trainer. "Good boy," he smiled at the dog. Ace's tongue flopped out in a doggy grin. 

He really had come a long way since the Joker. Bruce still held doubts, but Alfred could see the dog's potential, now more than ever. There was a heart of gold underneath all that growling and snapping teeth. One just needed to earn to see it. 

_"They need to be loved, not used."_

A sensible declaration by a sensible young woman. 

Remembering the building's location was simple enough, but as Alfred looked up at the entrance, he realized he did not yet know where to find Miss Battaglia. It was an old building, but well maintained. On the front stoop was the same small crowd of young men. All deeply interested in the town car he had driven to get here. 

One of them whistled and they all jeered at him. "Mind if we take that for a spin?" being the most prevalent. Alfred nearly rolled his eyes; none of them could have been over the age of 16, the legal driving age. At his side, Ace growled at them (thankfully not pulling on his lead) and that kept them at bay. 

Once he left the car unattented however... Alfred wondered if he'd return to find it sitting on cinder blocks. 

"You looking for some hussies?" one of them called out," You on the wrong block, but for a price I can tell you where to find the best ones."

Alfred frowned _deeply_ at the young man's and his words, but before he could reprimand him, a loud CRACK! echoed down the street. Ace of course barked at the source, a young woman holding a brown bag of groceries and metal pipe. She hit it against the railing again with a CRACK! -Ace barked again- but she had eyes only for the group of boys. 

"You do _not_ call them that," she glared at them," They are not 'hussies', or 'whores', or 'bitches'. They are women and you will treat them with respect." She cracked the pipe against the railing again, and they all flinched. 

"And now you're harassing old men and their dogs?" she stepped closer menacingly and they all quickly stood up. "You're lucky King doesn't find out," the young woman warned," I hear he likes to throw people out windows. I like the more direct action."

One of the braver lads spoke up," But Shantelle, we weren't-"

CRACK! He jumped. 

"I find out anything happens to this man or his car, and I'll break your knees with my bat, you hear?" she said lowly. The boys nodded fervently, eyes wide in fear. 

"Now beat it." And they did. 

Alfred and the young lady watched them book it down the sidewalk, both with no small amount of bemusement. Then she turned to Alfred. "Yo, what are you doing here, old man?" she asked, bag resting on her hip in a pose of pure sass," You lookin' to be robbed or something? Cuz I gotta tell you, coming 'round here with a ride that slick and a suit like that is just _stupid_."

_'For someone else, perhaps,_' he thought but did not voice his opinion. But even if he weren't who he was, Alfred was hardly unprotected with Ace with him. Still, she did not know that and yet intervened on his behalf. Alfred was not without manners. "Thank you for your help," he told her," I'm here looking for someone actually. A Miss Kinley Battaglia?"

Recognition dawned on her face. "You know Kinley?"

* * *

18 floors up and thank the landlord who kept the elevator in working order. ("He lives on the 20th floor," the charming Miss Shantelle Ellis informed him," So no way he'll ever let it go out of order.") "Yo, Kinley!" she rapped on the door of 1804 with all the grace of a woodpecker," Visitor for ya!" From inside there was a muffled shout, then some brief clattering. The door opened a moment later and the first thing Alfred saw was Dick Grayson. 

No, that... that was entirely incorrect. Very close (that same small nose, the same bow shaped lips, the same _eyes_) very similar, but with enough differences to throw him off. Alfred knew almost every scar and injury on all his family and Master Grayson had never had a scar dissecting his right jaw. His nose perhaps, with a clean slice, but that scar was pale white and not this purple indentation. Still, he could not stop staring at his Dick look-a-like, even as he and Ace were invited in. 

"You're still here, huh?" Shantelle scowled at the lad. Not-Dick scowled right back and got the bag of groceries shoved into his arms. 

"Oof!" he exclaimed at the unexpected force, and gave a her a petulant look," Really Shantelle?" Her own expression was entirely unrepentant. 

"Dorito had the right idea that we should've thrown you into the Sprang," she said," I still might."

"Get in line," he grumbled then looked at Alfred," I'm guessing you're here to check on Kinley too?"

Check on her? Alfred hummed, "Mm hmm. Of sorts." More of an official meeting, really. "Miss Ellis was kind enough to escort us."

Not-Dick glanced down at Ace, then at Shantelle. "Ta da," she said blandly, doing little jazz hands," I brought you your guest _and_ your groceries. Tell Kinley to text me when you leave so I can visit her without having to look at your ugly mug."

Alfred nearly smiled at the look of absolute frustration on Not-Dick's face. "Well, take care old man," Shantelle turned to him with a wide smile," Tell Kinley hi for me. And you," she pointed a finger in Ace's face," feel free to bite Dimitri in the ass." Ace barked, either for affirmation or because there was a finger in his face. 

Not-Dick, real name presumaby Dimitri, all but shoved her out into the hall. "Don't you have a girlfriend to harass or something? I can take it from here. Bye." Then shut the door on her face. 

"You're such an ass, Dimitri!" Shantelle shouted from the other side. 

Inside, Alfred watched with a barely there smile as his grandson's look-a-like leaned against the door. The poor lad looked so frazzled, clutching the bag of food like it was a shield. "Charming," Alfred hummed. 

Dimitri looked sourly at him," I don't know if you're talking about me or her, and I'm not going to ask. Maybe not tell Kinley I shoved her friend out the door though?" He appeared almost worried. "I'm still in the doghouse."

At the word 'dog', Ace decided to let himself be known, snuffling at Dimitri's hands. Alfred looked on first with worry, then relief, then amazement as the usually belligerent dog got acquainted with the new man. For his part, the lad seemed to like the attention, letting Ace smell his hands, then ruffling his fur when Ace tried to jump on him. 

"Good boy," Dimitri cooed at Ace, cupping his hand around one side of the dog's face and massaging his cheek deeply with a thumb. Ace's tongue lolled in a grin. 

Alfred felt _such_ pride for Ace's progress. 

"Are you and Miss Battaglia roomates?" he asked. A glance around the front entrance showed the place to be mostly feminine though with the hint of a man's influence here and there. 

"No," Dimitri straightened up," I'm Kinley's friend: Dimitri Shukis." He held out a hand to shake. 

Alfred's eyebrows skyrocketed._ D. Shukis?_ Could it be this was the reporter, the one that Tim went to all those months ago to print an article in the Gazette? The only reporter ever to get an official interview from Red Robin?

_'What are the odds?'_ he thought and shook his head. D. Shukis indeed. "Pleasure to meet you," he accepted the young man's handshake," Alfred Pennyworth at your service."

Dimitri's lip quirked in the same way he's seen Bruce do when something happened that he didn't expect but it was funny all the same. "Not a Battaglia, huh?" He made a peculiar humming sound and stepped away from the door to the open kitchen. As he set the bag on the table, he asked," How do you know Kinley then?"

Such paranoia. Alfred almost smiled; this Dimitri would fit right in with Master Bruce and the rest of the brood. "No, not a Battaglia," he confirmed," I met Miss Kinley some months ago when I went to adopt Ace here."

Ace barked at the sound of his name. 

A direct moment later, there was an answering bark from outside. That would be Gelert, making himself known and clawing at the balcony door. Either someone opened it for him, or he managed to get the latch himself, because the next second the black dog came bounding in. "Ridiculous creature," Kinley followed soon after him with a fond smile on her face, then after her-

"Red Robin?"

It had been a long time since Alfred's heard Master Tim make _that_ particular surprised squawk, startling so badly that he almost dropped the flower pot he was holding. "Al-" he almost blurted out then promptly dissolved into a fit of coughs. 

They both were thinking the same thing._ 'What are **you** doing here?!'_

Red Robin's surprise was luckily covered by the ruckus caused by Ace and Gelert. The two dogs barked and jumped round and round, greeting each other that way that only dogs could. "Gelert, down!" Kinley tried to grab his collar but missed and that was when Alfred saw her arm in a cast and sling. 

"I'll bring them out to the balcony!" Tim quickly and loudly volunteered. He hastily set the pot down and dove to catch Gelert's red collar. "Come on G, let's go," he tugged at the much larger dog. Then taking Ace's lead from a very surprised Alfred's hands, he led both dogs back outside, his black cape whipping behind him just like Batman's. 

Either oblivious to Tim's hasty retreat or willfully ignoring it, Miss Kinley hobbled over to him. "Well this is a surprise," she said with a smile," Hello Mr. Pennyworth."

They exchanged pleasantries, interrupted only briefly by Mr. Shukis pointedly dragging a chair over to her side. Her response to this was to soundly ignore it. _His_ reply was a badly pantomimed yell of outrage._ 'So dramatic,'_ Alfred smiled,' _And so much like Master Dick.'_ Taking pity on the young man, he himself took a seat at the nearby table. Miss Kinley followed suit with the other available chair. 

"I merely meant to drop in to say hello and did not mean to intrude on your evening," he apologized. 

"Never an intrusion unless you mean it to be one, Mr. Pennyworth," she replied back cleanly," Happy Samhain. The boys were just helping harvest my garden actually."

Dimitri, who had gone back to unpacking groceries, paused noticeably and looked at the pot Tim had abandoned on the floor. His gaze was not subtle and so Alfred glanced over at it too. Knowing the old holiday, he thought it telling that Red Robin had been there instead of any actual family. This was not just any old flower pot, but a large terra cotta with no less than five herbs. 

"Indeed," he hummed and his eyes drifted over to the door where Tim had disappeared through," I did not realize you often had visitors of the vigilante kind." No wonder nobody batted an eye at him showing up claiming to know Miss Kinley. 

"Only Red Robin. He stops by every now and then to steal a cup of coffee and get the latest gossip in the Bowery," she told him. Mr. Shukis muttered something else, but Alfred could not hear it. 

_'And just happens to help out in the garden in full Red Robin gear?'_ "Indeed," he repeated, not believing for a second. 

"So what brings you to my humble abode?"

He looked at Miss Battaglia, who looked at him with undisguised curiousity and a knowing smile. Then at Mr. Shukis, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed. "I'm trying to get Ace resocialized with people outside the family. I had hoped you and Gelert could help me in that endeavor," he smoothly lied. 

Both Kinley and Dimitri made matching humming sounds._ 'Peculiar,'_ Alfred thought and looked at the lad more closely. Other than the uncanny likeness to Dick, he could not recognize him in any other way. 

Dimitri shifted on his feet and glanced at the balcony door. "I'm not imagining it, am I?" he asked Kinley.

"No," she answered, then told Alfred," Dimitri knows about Spirits, Mr. Pennyworth. No need to be careful with words around him."

Now _that_ was a surprise. "Really?" he looked at the young man, who shrugged in acknowledgement. 

"It's a long story, but I have an in-depth knowledge on the Spirits," he explained," Red out there doesn't know, so we're usually careful about what we say. So are you...?" he trailed off, one brow raised. 

"Yes," Alfred smiled; this was a pleasant turn of events," One could say I also have an in-depth knowledge on the matter."

"Then you should meet Ex," Kinley said and put her phone on the table. The lights were still on and the apartment was bright, yet she able to successfully draw Ex out of the device. Invisible to most people in daylight, Ex sat in her hand, flowing about like water out of gravity. 

"_There_ you are," Alfred spoke to the little Spirit like one would a small child," I was wondering where you were hiding." The little green light twirled happily at the acknowledgement.

"Wait, you can still see him in the light?" Dimitri asked. 

Alfred nodded. "Of course I can," he said, then gave the lad a look," I'd say your in-depth knowledge is lacking some." The young man crossed his arms and grumbled some more.

"Tell me about the name 'Ex'," Alfred asked," Were you the one to name him? He's still in his spectral form; too young to choose his own."

Ex slid back into the phone. "It's short for Musical Expression," Kinley told him," and he's young, but he learns so fast." She looked proud as she explained," He does best with electrical energy, but he can manipulate physical matter already. As long as it's an instrument."

Alfred could understand her pride; it's not an easy thing for Spirits to move anything with physical mass. It took a great deal of age and power to do so. They _are_ incorporeal beings, after all. 

"And so he lives in your phone," he guessed. 

"Happily playing music all day long."

"Clever."_ 'Very clever.'_

A sound caught his attention, and Alfred turned in time to see the balcony door open. Tim, still masked, popped his head in, looking a little red in the face. Ace and Gelert barreled in past his legs, the latter immediately jumping up on the couch. "Gotta go," Tim called, very pointedly not looking at Alfred," Keep me updated."

Dimitri waved a hand in his general direction," Bye bye, Dr. Midnight."

Tim froze just as he was about to close the balcony door. His head popped back in and he argued," I do not look like Dr. Midnite!"

"Well you don't look like a red robin either," Kinley retorted. 

"Honestly, it's like you've never seen a bird in your life," Dimitri added. 

"_Goodbyyyyye_," rather than argue some more, Tim shut the door and left. A moment later Alfred heard the tell-tale sound of a grapple gun. 

It was good for Tim to have such friends. "Well you three get along well," he commented, smiling. 

Dimitri made a face. "He's annoying and he knows it," he mumbled. 

Kinley shot him a reproachful look," You're just sour because he calls you out on your fake grumpiness."

"He breaks into my apartment almost every other week!" Dimitri threw his hands up in the air," No, the word I'm looking for is _annoying_."

* * *

Alfred didn't get a chance to talk to Tim about it until two days later. Having been Halloween night, it had been all-hands on deck. There was always the fear of an Arkham breakout on All Hallow's Eve, or the serial killer who took horror films a little too close to heart. Luckily, no such thing happened. 

It had not been an easy night by any means however, as Master Bruce and Master Damian returned the morning of November 1st with grim faces and the distinct smell of death hanging off them. They were exhausted, both mentally and physically, and Alfred worried for them. Bruce sat and watched animal documentaries with his son until he fell asleep, then carried him off to bed. 

"We found a body," he later told Alfred," Staged in a warehouse to look like a scarecrow."

Just the thought had him grimacing. "Do you believe Jonathon Crane was involved, sir?" he asked. 

"A fan," Bruce sighed and rubbed at his eyes," He tried sending pictures of the crime scene to Crane. We were able to trace them back him. He's in Gordon's hands now."

"Good." The sooner men like that were off the streets, the better, he firmly believed. 

"How's..." Bruce yawned," How's it been here on the homefront?"

"Blessedly calm," was the answer," and no worse for wear. Miss Cassandra returned home some hours ago and has since gone off to bed. Master Duke is preparing for his day, and Master Richard sent me a picture of himself sitting on a 10-foot pumpkin."

The corner of Bruce's lip quirked up; that sounded so much like Dick. It was good to know he had enjoyed his Halloween in Bludhaven. "And Tim?" he asked warily, fully aware Tim hadn't slept at the Manor in over four months. Still, it was a rough night and Bruce hoped his son might've returned here for rest even a little bit. 

Alfred smiled like he had a particular amusing thought. "Out making friends from what I've heard," he said," He's acclimating well to the Bowery."

And so yes, it wasn't until November 2nd, when Samhain was winding down to an end, that Tim slunk into the Manor under the guise of using the Batcomputer. Alfred quickly waylaid that ruse. 

"Afternoon tea is waiting upstairs in the kitchen," he'd said then disappeared back up the stairs. Sure enough, Tim showed up in the kitchen doorway five minutes later. He had the same expression he did as a child when Alfred caught him sneaking out to go patrol while sick. 

"Have you told Bruce, yet?" he asked quietly. 

The old butler wondered what Tim thought Bruce would _do_ if he knew, to put that kind of worry in his voice. It was a worrisome thought, as he silently set the tea at the island. In the past, he might've chalked it up to Tim's incessant need for privacy and independence. But in light of recent events, Alfred had come to learn that Tim hid things _for a reason._

The only real question was who was he hiding from and why?

Tim sat and picked up his tea at Alfred's insistence. "Should I be expecting an Inquisition-level 'talk' from him next week?" he asked. His hands gripped the tea cup gently, but his unnatural stillness did not escape notice. 

Odd. "Why do you assume next week?"

"To give him time to dig into everyone's backgrounds all the way from Kinley to Dimitri to even Shantelle and Annie." 

Had he not known who exactly Miss Battaglia was and just how paranoid Bruce was, Alfred would've questioned why he assumed Bruce would dig so deep. But he did know Bruce and his detective ways and his absolute determination to see something through. And Alfred knew the Battaglias were known the world over in a billion small ways, infamous in a niche society. Their size alone would attract Bruce's attention. 

The only reason they hadn't before was because they steered clear of Gotham. Until now, that is. 

But he needed Master Tim to know one thing. "You can rest assured that no one in this household will learn of them from me," he told him, lifting up his own cup. 

Tim's eyes narrowed," What about outside of this household?"

Alfred barked out a laugh. "Goodness, the lawyer in you!" he said fondly," Yes, my dear boy, that includes those that live outside this household as well."

Reassured (for now), Tim took a swig of his tea, largely ignoring the food set out. Alfred wished he would take at least one sandwich; he needed it. "I thought I was being careful," the young man said sullenly," The middle of the day, my comms were left at home, and I've only ever talked about it with Barbara." He looked up wearily at the older man," How did you find out?"

So much like Bruce; so paranoid. "I was just as surprised as you, Master Tim," he told him," I had gone there to visit a friend. Imagine my surprise to instead find Red Robin _gardening_."

"She couldn't do it with one hand," Tim mumbled into his tea," Still, how do _you_ know Kinley and Dimitri?"

Alfred smiled, thinking a moment. He weighed the pros and cons, then regaled Tim with the tale of meeting a headstrong girl in an animal shelter trying to adopt Ace right out from underneath his nose. Tim had known about Ace's predicament; he'd known that Gelert was a rescue; he just had never put the two together and thought they'd been at the same shelter. 

Tim laughed at the thought of Kinley challenging Alfred to a fight over Ace. 

Then he chewed at his bottom lip, a thinking tic leftover from when he was a child. "Sometimes I worry... I worry about the whole thing, you know?"

No, he not in fact know. And he stated as such. 

"With Kinley, I mean, and the Battaglias and Dimitri," he clarified," Something about the whole thing just... rubs me the wrong way. You know I actually thought they were a cult before? Or at least that's how Dimitri made it sound. Now I just... half of me still thinks they're a criminal organization."

"I just have this feeling that Kinley might be up to something _big_ and I can't fathom what."

Alfred could think of several theories why Miss Battaglia could be in Gotham. None of them he could be certain of, but they most certainly were not _small_. "An organization? Perhaps," he mused out loud," A criminal one? Never."

"Why do you sound so sure? You just met her."

Alfred gave him a look that involved one eyebrow going up. Then he recited," Omnia nos, auxilio aliis."

"Bless you," Tim replied instantly with a grin," Was that Latin?"

"It was. The Battaglia motto, if you will, though if you were to ask any of them, they'd call it The Rule."

"So what does it mean?" 

A sandwhich was unsubtly placed on his plate. Tim smiled at the obvious hint and picked up the food, biting into it. "How do you even _know_ the Battaglia motto?"

Alfred remembered back to Europe, at the height of the war, and meeting people he would've previously thought impossible. "Miss Kinley is not the first Battaglia I've had the pleasure of meeting," he answered," And it means, 'All of us, helping others'."

Tim chewed his food thoughtfully before swallowing. " 'All of us, helping others'..." he hummed," That's... good. I like it."


	44. ATTN

ATTN:

**This is not hiatus!**

I'm just informing you that with COVID-19 now starting to affect my region, I will be overrun with work at my hospital and will not have have much time to write.

I will post new chapters when I can, but just to let every one of you know that while I will be much slower in my updates, I am not abandoning this story yet. 

Good luck everyone, and I'll see you on the other side. 


	45. Hang in there everybody!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's not a chapter, but can I interest you in some drawings?

Thank you so much everybody for the well wishes! I won't lie, I teared up a little bit reading all your comments and I wish I could give you all hugs.

Luckily I have not contracted COVID-19 at this time, but my hospital is nearing full lockdown in preparation of incoming patients. (You would not _believe_ the amount of meetings I've been in since last week!)

Remember everyone, practice social distancing and wash your hands (whether it's hand sanitizer or soap) And for now, *air hugs*!


	46. Out of the Shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Author is still alive!)  
Our background is set, our characters are ready, and it's about time everyone's plans are set in motion.

Crane made a mess of the place. 

True, a lot of the damage had been caused by time and decay, but dust could be cleaned up. Rust could be scrubbed off. Rats could be chased out by cats and the rat holes plugged up. But the mangled mess of what used to be the elevator stood out like a sore thumb in the middle of the bunker. 

That elevator used to be beautiful, inlaid with brass and the metalwork designed by the same smith who crafted their emblem. She's seen the pictures of what it used to look like, finely crafted and elegant in the center of what used to constitute as the meeting hall. 

But after a Killer Croc hyped up on fear toxin had a go at it, it was nothing more than a twisted wreck of metal. 

"And we couldn't even get one dead Bat for our troubles," the woman with light hair and even lighter eyes murmured sadly as she examined the state of it. It could be repaired, but the metalwork would never be the same. 

At her side stood her faithful companion, his pale grey suit complimenting his dark skin nicely. He was not as invested in the history of the place as her, and so looked almost bored in their examination. "Nikkita," he called," Is it necessary to use this bunker? We have other, more suitable places."

Nikkita turned her dark eyes to him with an expectant look.

"Other places with a cell signal," he amended. 

Nikkita's smile was beautiful but cruel," Exactly. Considering we were able to receive transmitted data from the Clinic before Dave prematurely blew it up, we don't want anyone getting into our own systems, now do we?"

The man in the grey suit made a show of looking around the derelict bunker," What systems?"

Nikkita laughed and reached up to stroke one side of his face with the tips of her fingers, her bright red nails a stark contrast to his tanned face. "You didn't think this was just a hole in the ground, did you, Thomasi?" she asked sweetly, then gestured to the destroyed elevator," Where do you think that elevator goes to, hmm? Not the surface, that's for sure."

Thomasi stood ramrod straight, not even twitching as her nails gently scratched at his cheek. She almost thought he stopped breathing. With one last smile, she released his face and turned back to inspecting the rest of the bunker. "Dave did well in the clinic," she spoke, almost wistfully," Are there any surviving members of his team?"

It took Thomasi a moment to regain his cool composure, but when he did he reported with all the professionalism of a soldier," Dave, Steppan, Alton, and Eric are dead. Lee and Casey are in police custody, awaiting trial."

"Get them out," she ordered coolly," Bring them back to me, Thomasi."

Thomasi dipped his head in acknowledgment and made to step away, but then commented," They're saying some guy named King did it, took out our men. That's why Dave had to blow the place up early."

Had he not been trained so well for it, he might've missed the sudden tension in her shoulders. Nikkita's back was turned to him, but it was easy to imagine the grief on her face. He knew Nikkita loved all her men, mourned when they died, and hated that they'd lost four in one go. He wondered when she'd give him permission to hunt down this 'King'.

"Woman."

Thomasi blinked," Huh?"

"It's a woman," Nikkita repeated, still not turning to look at him," King is female."

Well that... he did not expect. "How do you know?" he questioned," No one's really seen King's face, and the Crime Alley people are being stubborn about it."

Nikkita's voice was soft, and if hard pressed, he might even say _sad_," I just know."

She obviously wasn't going to elaborate more on the matter, so Thomasi took it as his dismissal. The bunker was quiet and his footsteps echoed in the chamber as he made his away across the rubble. The large metal 'M' hung over the entrance, a metal monolithe that caught his eye upon passing. 

"Thomasi," Nikkita called out and he froze. 

"While you're at it," she continued, her icy eyes piercing him from across the chamber," leave another message. I want her to know I'm ready."

* * *

The bell over the cafe door gave a little TING as it opened. Out of habit, Kate glanced over but ignored it soon after when she saw it was just another college kid getting his daily fix. But just when she turned back to Renee, someone rushed past the kid with all the flurry of a tornado. 

"We've got a lead on King!" after almost bowling over the poor kid in the door way, Gil Callahan slid into the booth next to Renee and almost squished her with his eagerness.

"Move it, Callahan!" Renee shoved him back so she could have a little space," _What_ are you going on about?"

Kate thought it was all hilarious and grinned at the energetic man," Hey Gil."

"Hey Kate," Gil spared only a second to greet her back before slamming his phone down in front of Renee," Text from Lloyd. Finally got the reports from the Clinic explosion, and do you wanna take a wild guess who was there?"

Renee's eyes widened," No way." Her coffee laid forgotten as she snatched up the phone and read through the texts. " 'Four of the bodies were shot close range by the same unregistered 9mm'," she read out loud," and 'hostages staged a diversion so that someone named King could infiltrate the building'?!"

"King was _there_!" she looked back up from the phone with a grin on her face and eyes bright. Her and Gil grinned like fools; this was just the kind of break they needed in this case. There were only so many people in the Clinic, so that narrowed the suspect list down from a thousand to about thirty. 

Across the table, Kate watched and listened as the two of them started spouting off. "A big break in your case, that's great," she interjected with a smile on her face; she was proud for Renee, but more importantly she was _intrigued_," Now is someone going to clue me in on to who this 'King' is?"

It was like someone ran in and said the Joker escaped from Arkham. 

The smile, whatever joy and glee there was to be had in this breakthrough, slid from Renee's face and Kate felt horrible. Great, now she just ruined date night. Well technically Gil crashed it, but Kate ruined it. 

"Sorry. It's a GCPD case," Renee said flatly, with that hard look in her eyes that said this was not up for discussion.

Gil, who was a great detective but sometimes was absolutely clueless when it came to reading the mood in a room, glanced between the two women with a confused expression. "Well, really it's just-" he started to say but the breath was knocked out of him by Renee's elbow," Ow! Hey!"

"Later," she hissed at him and shoved his phone back into his hands. Then she physically shoved him out of their booth.

* * *

"Aww c'mon, Renee. It's not like I'm gonna try and take the case away from you."

Renee glared at her girlfriend because yes, she really did think that she'd try and take the case away from her. That's just how Bats operate; she knew that. They were all the same, once they got a scent or a clue, they followed it like dog with a bone. For as much as Kate claimed to not be like Batman, she was totally like Batman. Stubborn, nosy, and with a penchant for going around official police business.

"Then you don't need to know the details," she said succinctly, moving her gaze forward as she strutted down the sidewalk. 

The pout Kate gave her could almost be considered cute. Almost. 

"Really? Not even gonna throw me a bone?" she asked.

Renee's quirk of her eyebrow was more telling than her silence. 

"Alright!" Kate threw her hands up with a dramatic groan," Fine! I'm dying of curiosity! It's obvious an important case to you, or else you wouldn't have gotten that excited about a possible lead. And I _promise_ I won't go snooping." Her green eyes focused on Renee with the sort of intensity that attracted her to the woman in the first place. 

But it was her next words that caught her attention now. "Just... tell me if it's someone dangerous, okay?" Kate asked quietly," I don't... I don't want you to get hurt chasing some stupid bad guy of the week."

She meant well, Renee knew that. But- "You mean like how _you_ do, every other night?" she pointed out. The hurt look in Kate's eyes made her sigh. "It's not... it's more _frustrating _than dangerous, okay?" she relented," And it's a case we got directly from the Commissioner, and if we were able to solve it and bring this guy in- by _ourselves_," she added with a wagging finger when Kate opened her mouth," then I'd consider that a win in my book."

"God knows we need it," she added under her breath. After the Clinic Explosion, IA's been breathing down everyone's back, sure there was more to it than a couple dispatchers being idiots. And maybe there was. And that pissed Renee off more than anything. 

Because what if there _was_ more to it? What if fourteen people died -in a goddamn clinic!- because a dirty cop on the force conveniently led everyone away from a massive hostage situation? Renee and Gil might not be assigned to that particular case, but damned if she wasn't going to be on the fringes of it. And if this King mystery was her way in, then so be it.

* * *

In all his years working for the Gotham City Morgue, Dr. Alviero Acies has seen some of the worst things this world had to offer. Being the city's Medical Examiner was not a rewarding job, having a front row seat to some of the most gruesome murders this world has ever seen. This was not a job that most people would want. 

And yet it's one he fought tooth and nail for. 

It was night and the rest of the hospital was quiet, with only the barebone staff awake and milling around upstairs. No one came down here this late at night, not unless there was a recent death that attracted the attention of either the Commissioner or -on more memorable occasions- Batman himself. 

There was no such recent murder, so Dr. Acies sat alone in his office filling out reports and catching up on paperwork. And yet, the sound of high heels echoing off tile reached his ears. The pen in his hand made a dark mark in the wrong spot on his report as he looked up.

Then the radio on his desk clicked on and started playing quietly. 

**It's the quiet in the distance**   
**And the stumble in the dark**

Dr. Acies set his pen down, his eyes never leaving the open doorway, the hallway nothing more than an inky darkness beyond. The sound of high heels continued -steady.... steady... click... click...click...- in the hall.

**And it comes without warning**   
**It comes without warning**

"I knew I'd find you here," Kinley's smile was warm but no less sharp as she rounded the corner to his office. 

Though he had over twenty years on her, with gray hairs at his temples and far too many wrinkles on his face, Alviero fought the urge to stand from his desk. But the way his radio continued to play soft, eery music, and the way she continued to stride forward to place a folder on his desk, had him remaining in his seat. 

She wasn't big on formalities anyways. 

"Present for me?" he asked instead and reached for the folder. 

"Your assignment."

Alviero's hand froze halfway to the file, sitting innoculously on his desk but suddenly so much more impending. His assignment. He's been in Gotham for six years, been the chief M.E. for four, and only now was he getting this folder. 

**There's no time to think it over**   
**There's no time to change your mind**

The radio continued on. 

"When?" he asked quietly. 

Kinley's arm was in a sling but she stood tall and straight, so that even with the obvious injury she looked every bit the Amazon she was. And then more. "I'm playing the long game with this city," she answered honestly," Gotham deserves nothing less."

Alviero's been here six years; she's been here six months. What took him years to understand, took her only months. They needed to start from the bottom and the top and work their way to the center. By the time they were done, Gotham would never be the same. And he couldn't wait to see what it looked like at the end. 

**The will, the faith, the power**   
**To do what must be done**   
**And we come without warning**   
**We come without warning**

Later, when he'd go on his computer and look up the song that was playing on his radio, he'd chuckle softly to himself. 

But right at this moment, he reached across his desk and picked up the folder. "I'll be ready when you call," was all he could say. 

**There's no time to think it over**   
**There's no time to change your mind**   
**You better run**

* * *

_"Reports also say there was a black woman with purple hair. Only one woman I know fits that description, and she claims to know King. I'm heading back to CASKet tonight."_

_"Not without me, you aren't. Meet you there at 9."_

_"Roger Dodger!"_

Renee checked her texts -no new incoming- before flagging down the bartender for another. The big guy had given her a strange look when she'd ordered a Limón pressed the first time around, but scooted off when she snarkily asked him if he needed a description on how to make one. Second time around, he just made it without comment and took her fiver to get her change. 

Drink prices weren't bad here. She kinda liked it. 

Still wasn't her kind of bar, though. Since Gil was late, she spun on her stool with her new drink and took a look around the bar. It looked like a dive at first, but there was a certain... upscaleness to the place. If a bar in the heart of Crime Alley could be considered upscale. There was a stage in the back, but no performers on it, despite there being a few scantily clad women milling around. 

At first glance, the jukebox, pool table, and tacky lighting screamed cheap ass bar. But the jukebox was hooked up to surround sound, the pool table was free of tears and stains, and the low lighting hid the back half of the bar in darkness. 

Had Renee not been a cop, she might not have noticed in the first place. 

"Drinking by yourself, gorgeous?"

Her eyes rolled so hard she almost gave herself a headache. Great, just what she needed. Some drunk asshole hitting on her in a bar while she waited for her partner to show so they could work their case. "Move along, buddy," she warned him with a pointed look. 

But drunk + idiot = not smart choices. "Just thought you might," he hiccuped and took up the seat next to her," want some company. It... it sucks having to drink all by yerself."

Before Renee could tell him to buzz off again, a shout from one of the men at the pool table caught his attention. One of the grizzled gang members was looking their way, leaning on his cue stick with a grin. "You know what King'll do to ya if you keep harassing that lady!" he warned. 

Renee perked up in her seat._ 'King?_' Hot damn, Gil was _right_ about this place.

The drunk paled, and with a sheepish apology that would've shocked Renee had she not been so focused on the other guy name-dropping King, he slid off the bar seat and left her alone. The gaggle of men continued their pool game, roughhousing and yelling at each other. 

She seriously considered going over there and asking a few questions. Namely "who the hell is King?"

"Fucking _finally_." Before she could do so, someone plopped themselves in the seat the drunk just vacated. Renee glanced over and did a double take because _'Oh shit. Purple hair.' _

"I've been trying to figure out all night what a dame like you was doing here," Miss Coco, purple haired sass extraordinaire, smiled widely at Renee," I'll give you this: you blend in a hell of a lot better than Detective Sweetling before you."

Fuck, Gil had mentioned he'd been found out the last time he came here, but that was just Gil. He sucked at undercover. Renee thought she'd at least make it an hour before anyone made her. "You're good," she raised her glass in acknowledgement of the woman before her," What gave me away?"

Satisfied that she wasn't trying to deny it, Coco met her raised glass with the rim of her own martini with a clink. "You still kinda stand out," she admitted," You're not a local because I _know_ all the locals. And you perked up like a jack-in-the-box when you heard the name King."

"And all that says 'cop' to you? Kind of a stretch," was Renee's answer, with a half grin as she sipped her Limón pressed. 

"It's also really easy to see the outline of your badge in your back pocket."

Renee almost snorted out her drink._ 'Checking out my ass, Coco?'_ she tried not to laugh. God forbid this woman ever meet Kate. "Sorry, I'm taken," she replied," And she doesn't share."

"Pity," Coco grinned. 

"So," she then looked at Renee expectantly," What's _your_ reason for-" 

She was cut off when the door opened and both women glanced over to see who had entered. Gil shook the sleet off him, doing a marvelous impression of a wet dog, and glanced around the bar until his eyes landed on them. "Detective Callahan!" Coco exclaimed and waved at him.

"And," she looked back at Renee with a knowing smile," Detective Hot Stuff."

God, there was no way this woman was for real. "Montoya, actually," Renee corrected her as Gil walked up to the pair. 

For someone whose name was practically yelled out in a bar of possible criminals, he was far too chipper as he said," Oh good, you found her. So... what'd I miss?"

It was times like these that Renee almost missed working with Detective Bullock. 

"Still trying to find King, Sweetling?" Coco asked. 

"Yes to your question and now it's my turn," came his reply," We know King was at the Clinic, Coco. What was he doing there?"

"Right place, right time. And that's not how it works Sweetling. You can't just jump into the game like that." 

"Whoa hey!" Renee interjected and threw up her hands between the two of them," Am I missing something here?"

Despite Coco's grin, Gil was the one to answer. "The thing is you can't ask her a question without answering one of her own. She likes playing 20 questions. It's kinda her thing."

The snort Coco gave was sarcastic at its finest and the look she gave him was pure, 100% 'Oh you sweet summer child'.

"Yeeeeeahhhh," Renee's look wasn't as amicable as Coco's," Something tells me that's not gonna fly like that tonight, Gil."

"Huh?" he glanced back and forth between the two women, but they were already turning back to each other and ignoring him. 

Coco rolled her eyes and took a drink of her martini. As she set the empty glass down on the bar top -the bartender was right there to take it away- she told Renee," Two weeks I might've given you a hint, just to watch you two squirm. Now... I just want you out of my bar."

The bartender set a new drink in front of her. The way he stuck around and gave Renee a flat eyed glared told her he'd be more than happy to kick them out should they not leave. Soon. 

Even still, Renee's fought men bigger than him and she was not leaving without some kind of answer. "Because you're trying to hide King?" she guessed," Or do you just hate cops?"

"King doesn't need to hide," Coco said flatly, her manicured nails tapping on the bar top," And I used to like cops...until they let the Clinic get blown up."

Renee puffed up in anger, but Gil beat her to the punch. "We would _never_ have let that happen to the Clinic if we'd known," he argued vehemently," If we had gotten the call-"

"You _did_ get the call," Coco interrupted," You got four of them."

He faltered, but before he could continue on, she was adding," And I don't care if the news say it was a matter of misunderstanding, if the dispatchers responsible have been sacked. Fourteen people are dead. Because no one cared enough about Crime Alley."

Her voice was almost melancholic as she picked up her new drink and stared into the cloudy liquid. "If you want to see who's let it get this far, then go look into your own records and see how many times a cop never showed up when they've been called. Look into how many times someone's died because help never came."

"Red Hood was our judge, jury, and executioner. Red Robin is our sheriff. Maybe it's about time we had a King and made some order of this mess."


	47. The Case That Isn't a Case

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1) Renee was always a good cop, Gordon knew that.  
2) We're introduced to a few new characters...

Renee walked into Gordon's office with no announcement and a determined expression on her face. "I want a new case," she said in lieu of a greeting. 

Gordon didn't look up from his paperwork. "Evening, Montoya," he drawled and scratched his signature onto yet another funds allocation form," I thought you already _had_ a case?"

"Yeah, and I'm going to keep that one, but I want your permission to investigate something else," she spoke plainly -she really didn't have patience to beat around the bush- and sat down in the chair opposite him. At her words, Jim peered at her over the top of his glasses. Alright, he'll admit, he was intrigued.

"Something in particular you want to investigate, Montoya?" he asked. 

"I want the Crime Alley case." 

"Okay, but which _one_?" 

It was here she took a deep breath and braced herself. "I don't think the Clinic was the first time police didn't show up," she admitted," I think the GCPD's been purposefully ignoring calls coming from the Bowery."

Gordon put his pen down and fixed a hard look at her. Renee met his gaze straight on, chin held high and eyes narrowed in defiance. She was right, she knew it, and as much as it pained her she had to admit that there was a high chance Coco was right. The GCPD abandoned Crime Alley a long time ago and it was about high time someone did something about it. 

And if she wanted to fix that, then she needed Jim Gordon's support on this. 

As for him, Jim might as well be a statue, his face inscrutable. Whatever he thought of Renee's accusation, he wasn't letting it be obvious on his face. 

"You want to investigate the GCPD itself..." he finally spoke, in a low voice. 

Renee nodded. 

A long moment passed with the two of them squaring off across the desk. Then after a terse minute, Gordon's face broke out into a small smile and chuckle escaped his lips. "Sir?" Renee blinked, thrown for a loop by his sudden change in behavior. 

"You're a good detective, Renee," he grinned. Without explanation, he dug around into the briefcase sitting open on his desk until he found a particular file. "You found the case that officially isn't a case," he hummed with an amused tone. 

He held a thin file over to her. 

_'What the....'_ It was with hesitant hands that she accepted the file. "Sir, you..." she questioned,"... already knew?"

He knew? He _knew_?! 

"That right there in your hands is all the reports of cases that have come out of Crime Alley for the past six months," he told her, gesturing to the quarter inch thick folder in her hands.

Renee held it up. It was... not much, to be honest. 

"Not as much as you'd expect for the most crime-ridden neighborhood in the city, is it?" Gordon continued," Almost as if they're not getting done..."

At Renee's questioning, he explained," I noticed the numbers were too low a while ago. When the Red Hood went missing, it was obvious there was going to be a power vacuum. And I was right. The number of deaths in the Bowery doubled almost overnight. And yet... our numbers stayed low. Almost every death either ruled accidental or overdose." 

The sigh Gordon gave was the sigh of a man _exhausted_. "I don't know if it's neglectful idiots or corruption going on in my ranks, and I don't know where it stops." 

"But I trust you, Montoya. And if god forbid this _is_ the work of dirty cops, then I want you to help me bring them down."

* * *

The air was crisp this November morning. Annie's breath showed in little puffs of steam in the air while she shopped for groceries. Snow hadn't quite come yet to Gotham, but she could tell it wasn't far away. As such, the shopowners were eager to get rid of any seasonal fruit before the Christmas stuff came in, shown by the display of apples in front of the store. 

Annie glanced over and saw a kid standing by the apples, carefully picking them up one by one, inspecting it for any flaws, then putting it down. He couldn't have been older than twelve, hadn't even hit his growth spurt yet and to her medically trained eyes, _painfully_ underfed. As much as she hated it, it was a sight she saw all to often in Gotham. 

She was already planning on giving him a whole handful of protein bars as soon as she finished paying for her groceries. 

Too bad the shop owner didn't feel the same empathy she did, his beady eyes keeping a sharp eye on the boy. But the little blond haired boy, bundled up in his winter coat that thankfully looked warm enough, wasn't really doing anything to warrant being kicked out of the store. 

He wasn't actually taking any apples, or slipping any into his coat. Just... looking at them. Making an exaggerated inspection of each and every one. 

Then he moved over to the bananas and started doing the same thing. 

The reason why became clear to her when something sneezed behind her. Startled, Annie turned her head to see another child standing at the end of the aisle, right next to the display of bread. The tip of a plastic bag peeked out from the top of his coat, which he was holding suspiciously close to his chest. 

He was so _tiny_!

_'And adorable,'_ she had to add when the little munchkin grinned toothily at her and winked before darting away into the next aisle. 

Up front, the shop owner confronted the older boy. "If you're not gonna buy anything, then get out of here and go back home," the old man snapped at the boy. 

Anne had only a second to decide....

... so she took a large step to the left and bumped into a display of beef jerky. The whole thing, wire rack and all, went tumbling down with an ungodly sound. 

"Oh shit!" she cursed, perhaps louder than she usually would," I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry!" She tried picking up the display and setting it right, overbalanced and sent it crashing into the shelf of chips. "Fuck!"

All thoughts of the boy forgotten, the shop owner rushed back towards her. "Wait!" he exclaimed just as Anne started shoving bags of chips back onto the shelf," Just-just let me do it!"

When she glanced up and looked past the old man, Anne saw the area next to the bananas empty.

* * *

"Sammiches! Sammiches!" Javier 'Javi' Torres cheered in his little kid voice as he skipped down the sidewalk. His dark hair bounced with every hop, giving Elijah glimpses of his red ears every few seconds. 

_'I need to find him a hat,'_ the older boy thought to himself, but even that couldn't stop him from grinning at Javi's exuberance. The few bananas he'd lifted earlier was a comforting weight , safely hidden in the plastic bag wrapped around his hand. (Rule #7: if it's in a bag, it looks like you bought it) Elijah held it tight, terrified that any second now someone would come up and grab it away from him. 

"Hey Eli?" his thoughts were torn from him when Javier suddenly stopped and grinned up at him," Can I have bananas _on_ my sammich?"

"_Sandwich_, Javi," he reminded him for the umpteenth time (at this point, he was convinced Javier was doing it on purpose) but found himself grinning too," And yeah, let's try it!"

Bananas on a peanut butter sandwich sounded pretty good. 

Getting to their hideout was easy as always; Elijah held open the window while Javier scrambled in. A moment later, his little hands propped open the window with a short 2x4 while Eli crawled in after him. The lumber was removed and the dirty window slammed back into place. 

_'Home sweet home,'_ Elijah hummed to himself and dumped the bag onto the little table in the middle of the room. Javier hopped up into the only chair and practically tore open the bread. While Elijah spread peanut butter over four slices of bread with his little swiss army knife, Javi watched with avid eyes. 

"Can I cut the bananas?" he asked eagerly. 

"No knife for you, Javi," Elijah told him. 

The younger boy pouted," Oh come oooooooon! You play with the knife, why can't I?"

"I'm not _playing_ with the knife, I'm making dinner with it," was Elijah's response. Then he looked up and grinned back at his little 'brother'," You can have the knife when you're older than me."

Javi, a grand total of seven to Elijah's eleven, looked hopeful at the prospect. "Next year?" he asked. 

Eli didn't even try and not laugh. He wondered if Javi would ever figure it out.

* * *

Pakistan would always hold a special place in the heart of the Battaglias. It was where Kinley was born, then thirteen years later it was where they found Tariq. Though very much mobility impaired, he was still a right spitfire. Tariq's loyalty knew no bounds and always thought himself lucky despite his unfortunate situation. 

Kinley didn't deserve him, not really. 

Despite his great dislike of electronics, Tariq took it upon himself to help Kinley through her physical therapy. And if that meant Skype calls with his little sister and coaching her through various hand exercises, then so be it. (He would know. When they first met, he could barely curl his fingers. Now he could punch someone in the face if it took his fancy.)

"Hode," he said, still having trouble with the 'L' sound on the word 'hold' but that didn't stop him from repeating with force," _Hode_."

"I'm holding, I'm holding," Kinley snapped back, holding one end of a rope toy while Gelert easily tugged it out of her grip. One of Gelert's favorite games was tug-o-war and Tariq saw it as an opportunity to strengthen the muscles in her hand. One problem was, Kinley really really sucked at it right now. 

With a playful growl, Gelert took back his toy with ease. 

"Ty again," Tariq coached from the computer. 

Kinley sighed and grabbed the end of the rope toy again. "This is ridiculous," she told her dog," Two weeks ago I could lift you with one hand. Now you're the undefeated champion of tug-o-war."

As if sensing her challenge, Gelert slowly tried pulling the toy away. With what she'd later claim to be sheer stubborness, Kinley squeezed her hand around the toy as tight as she could and halted him from taking it away entirely. The dog froze in shock, after an entire week of being able to win at this game not expecting to be suddenly met with resistance.

"Kin..." Tariq calls from the computer, a strange tone to his voice. But she didn't hear him, too focused on winning against her dog. 

"Hah!" Kinley jeered in victory, but all too soon as Gelert gave his next tug a lot more strength.

The rope toy _flew_ out of Kinley's hand, Gelert reared back and landed on his backside with all four legs flying, and the toy was catapulted out of his mouth. "_Kin_," Tariq said forcefully just as a black gloved hand reached into the air and caught the rope toy. 

"If we're taking bets, my money's on the dog," Red Robin grinned wide underneath his mask. 

Gelert barked and scrambled over to him, all tail wags and tongue lolling as he sat _on_ his feet and leaned heavily on Red's legs. "Hey G," Red Robin greeted him and handed the toy back. Gelert pulled on it eagerly, trying to intigate a game of tug-o-war from someone who was not currently in a cast but was disappointed when Red just let of the toy. 

Then he looked up and saw both Kinley and Tariq staring at him. "Umm, hi," Red waved awkwardly, almost as if to her laptop," Sorry to barge in." Silently, Kinley wondered what Red thinks of Tariq, knowing that she's never given him any hint as to her siblings. She had known Tariq's wheelchair was visible in the shot, as was his specialty-made noise cancelling headphones. A brief glance to her side confirmed that Tariq was staring down the caped vigilante with all the sourness he could muster, arms coolly crossed and eyes narrowed in a judging stare. 

Never let it be said that Tariq wasn't extremely possessive. 

Kinley rolled her eyes and picked up the laptop. "Tariq, this is Red Robin, pain in the ass who's trying to prove he's not a complete bastard," she introduced the two of them," Red Robin, this is my brother Tariq." 

She asked in Arabic if he'd mind she gave his full name and waited until he nodded before she added," Tariq Ibn Amal al-Battaglia."

Her brother almost seemed to puff up in pride.

Red didn't comment on the obviously different ethnicity and greeted Tariq politely. That appeared to be enough for Tariq, who said goodbye to Kinley in Arabic before making the sign for eyes tired. She understood: his eyes were tired from looking at the screen for too long.

If Red Robin understood their Arabic at all, then he didn't let on, instead waiting quietly as she said goodnight to her brother. Once the laptop was set back on the table and shut, he asked," Are you okay?"

The little grin on his face told her he knew exactly that he'd stolen her line. _'Clever bird,'_ Kinley huffed, but didn't say as such. "Just frustrated," she said instead," I don't like not being able to use my hand."

A pensive look crossed over his face, though difficult to tell from the cowl covering half of it. "Are you doing your physical therapy?" he asked. 

"As much as I can. I don't start with my therapist til next week," she admitted," That's why Tariq's been trying to help."

Red Robin hummed. Then he sat down on the couch and held out his hand. "Hold out your hand," he ordered. 

"Bossy," Kinley chuckled, but sat cross-legged on the couch herself. "Now what?"

"Hand," he repeated. 

_'Fucking bossy,'_ she thought again, but obligingly held out her injured hand, palm up. 

Red Robin's hands weren't overly large, and even gloved they laid over her palm with ease. His fingertips curled until they hooked around hers. "Pull," he demanded," Fingers only."

Kinley did so, curling the fingers of her hand until they pulled against the underside of his. There was resistance, a lot of it, though she doubted he was using anywhere near full strength. "Since when are you a physical therapist?" she joked, but they both recognized her cover for what it was.

Even still, he humoured her with a small grin," You think your x-rays are bad? You should see mine. Pull again."

She curled her fingers again. He politely did not comment on how her hand shook against the strain. 

"Can I ask you something?"

He switched their hand positions so they were clasped in classic thumb-war style. "1-2-3-4 I declare a thumb-war," he instructed, then answered," Ask away. But I reserve the right to not answer and that includes any and all questions about my identity."

"Why are you here?"

He paused long enough for Kinley to get his thumb under hers, but couldn't gain any strength in which to hold it down. Instead he just slid it back out and restarted the game. He didn't ask why she felt the need to ask him that. They both already knew, even if Dimitri hadn't already told him that she'd asked him that very same question. 

"I've lost enough friends," he answered smoothly," I'm not ready to go through that again."

It was cryptic and didn't answer her question. But for once, Kinley felt like he was telling the truth. 

Maybe it was time she told _him_ the truth.

* * *

She was being followed. Kinley liked to believe she was already a very alert sort of person, but living in Gotham had given her almost supernatural awareness. In the Bowery, every shadow moved and not everything that moved made noise. Anyone who lived here had to find other ways to detect danger, or else not make it home at the end of the day. 

Maybe it was the almost not-there sound of wind rustling. Maybe it was some unknown sense of hers detecting a change in air pressure. Maybe she really _did_ see that shadow move in that alley when she walked past it. Or maybe it was her trust in Gelert when he paused just a second to sniff at the air in front of the alley. And the one after that. And the one after that.

So she was being followed. 

Rather than lead them back to the apartment, Kinley decided a long detour would be nice. Gelert's walk around the block turned into a walk around the neighborhood. '_It's not Red,'_ she surmised,'_ He would've shown himself already.'_ That left a number of possibilities, very few of them pleasant, and Kinley pondered her options. 

Take evasive action and lose the tail and never find out why they're trailing her? Turn and confront them and risk there being more than one? Wait for them to make the first move and possibly fall into a trap? Or call for backup, try to find someone who could stalk the stalker?

In the end, Kinley did what she did best: She turned and waited. 

Not a word was spoken, other than a," Sit," command to Gelert and she didn't call them out. The alley was not as dark as others, lit by a neon light marking the back entrance of a Chinese restaurant. Even the street it opened up to was well lit with street lights and store displays. And it was at the edge of this opening where she stood and waited. 

She didn't have to wait long. 

Gelert's hackles raised and he growled low when a shadow detached itself from the rest of the darkness in the alleyway. Kinley stood her ground, calm as ever, as the figure stepped forward. 

He was... smaller than she expected. 

"Robin?" Kinley's exclamation of surprise was punctuated by Gelert's equally confused whine. "What are you following me for?"

She's only ever met him the twice, once in a bank and the second when he pulled her out from under a building. Neither were instances she thought warranted being followed in the dark.

"Are you a spy?" he asked. 

Kinley blinked and stared at him a moment. _'Wasn't expecting that,'_ she thought. There was a bit of cruel irony in his question, she had to admit, and wondered what gave him that impression. So she asked him.

"My reasons are my own," Robin huffed and crossed his arms. There was the slightest bit of a scowl on his face, but overall he just looked petulant. "But if you weren't a spy, you would not have been able to know I was trailing you," he added as afterthought. 

_'Cute,'_ Kinley thought, then told him," It's human evolution to be able to sense when they're being watched. Plus..." Gelert's tail wagged with a single thud when she reached down to scratch the top of his head. She grinned at Robin," ... it's really hard to sneak up on a dog." Her statement was marked by Gelert's nose wrinkling as he sniffed in Robin's general direction. 

"Oh... Robin's face fell, obviously having not thought of that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Raise your hand if you know exactly who Javier and Elijah are.
> 
> Also, if you'll note, Tariq has trouble with the letters R and L. This is due to his previous trauma that has limited how much he can use his tongue. Tariq is unable to curl his tongue, making them sound strange when he takes the time to sound them out. Half the time, he just leaves them out and speeds right through what he's saying anyways.


	48. That Won't Get Me Through Tomorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something in the shadows is moving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a short chapter, but I really wanted to get this out.

"He's... a good dog," Robin said, almost begrudgingly, as he petted Gelert. The three of them sat on the curb just outside the alley, Gelert laying between the two humans. It hadn't taken him long before he snuffled up to the young vigilante, ears perked and eyes curious. Once Robin had let the large dog scent him (Kinley was pleasantly surprised that he already knew how to do so without her prompting him) it was only a matter of time before two small gloved hands found themselves buried in Gelert's thick coat. 

Even now, one hand remained fingers deep in the dog's fur and gently massaging his back. Gelert soaked up the attention. 

Kinley smiled at the two of them. "You really like dogs, don't you?" she questioned, although she was fairly sure she already knew the answer. 

"Dogs are good," Robin answered quietly, scratching behind Gelert's ear.

"Yeah..." she glanced away from the young man and to her dog,"... yeah, they really are."

Neither said anything past that, just sitting there on that curb and petting the giant German Shepherd mix between them and listening to the sounds of the city all around them. It was nothing like when she'd met Red Robin, when she'd traded barbs over cups of coffee and got a mug stolen. It was nothing like the easy going friendship they'd shared before his paranoia got the best of him and Kinley spiralled out of control. 

Kinley and Robin sat there on the curb, thinking their own thoughts and trying to come up with what to ask the other once the initial questions were answered. 

_("Why are you always there when there's some crime?"_   
_"From what I hear, there's crime everywhere in this city."_   
_"... Fine."_

_"So why follow me?"_   
_"...My reasons are my own."_

_"Lemme guess, you think I'm some bad guy."_   
_"While the thought passed my mind, I've determined that possibility unlikely."_   
_"Interesting. Why?"_   
_"Because every time I see you, you're pretending to play hero."_   
_She snorted at that. "Says the one wearing a vigilante get-up."_   
_"Tt," he scoffed, then frowned thoughtfully," Plus... This dog seems to like you, so you can't be that bad.")_

"His name's Gelert," she offered up. 

Robin appeared to think a moment, trying to remember where he'd heard that name before. Then with a new expression, he looked back at Gelert before guessing," Named so because he's a protector?"

"Because he got the second chance the original Gelert never got."

He blinked up at her," How so?"

Kinley stroked the side of Gelert's face, heart melting when he leaned into the touch and his tongue lolled out in content doggy fashion. She remembered a pound employee telling her he was a killer, had torn a man's throat out. She remembered catching a 90 lbs dog midair as he leaped, teeth bared, at a man yelling at her on the sidewalk. She remembered holding tight to his leash as a downstairs neighbor slapped her boyfriend and screamed at him and Gelert jumped between the two of them, snapping at the woman.

She remembered the doggy grin on his face when she first snapped that leash onto him and he leaned so heavily against her legs he would've fallen over if she moved. 

"He was going to be put down before I got to him," Kinley said quietly," He was scared and abused and they said he killed a man, but I believe if he really did so then it was for a damn good reason."

Robin didn't say anything, just gazed between her and Gelert as she explained," No matter what he's done, he's still a good dog. The original Gelert was killed before they realized that. I wasn't about to let that happen to this one." As if knowing they were talking about him, Gelert rolled over onto Robin, all 90lbs nearly unseating the boy off the curb. A yelp escaped him as Robin threw out an arm to steady himself, unknowingly wrapping it around Gelert in a form of hug. 

Kinley smiled at the image. "Plus, he's a mean hugging machine," she said just as Gelert nudged Robin with his nose, demanding more pets. Dog lover that he was, he couldn't say no. 

It was good to see a small smile on the boy's face. 

As Robin occupied himself petting her dog and thinking over her words, Kinley felt a distinct buzzing in her pocket._ 'Well hello to you too, Dorito,'_ she thought with a smile and fingered her phone in her pocket. 

"You really can't help yourself, can you?" he asked. 

"Hmm?" Kinley glanced up. 

"Jumping in and gotta save everyone," he elaborated," Every time. The bank, the muggers in the alleyway, the clinic..._Gelert_."

He was missing quite a few: the gas station, the girls in The CASKet, the girl in the Bowery, the little old lady and his grandson. But Robin wouldn't know about those, he wouldn't know who King was or what she's been up to on her free time. But that didn't mean he was wrong. Kinley withdrew her hand out of her pocket; the text would have to wait. 

"It's what I do. It's why I came to Gotham in the first place."

Robin made a face at that. "You came to Gotham to fight crime with subpar skills and stupidity?" he asked in disbelief and Kinley felt a strong urge to give him a noogie. Then he grimaced and his nose crinkled up as if something rotten sat right below his nose," Please don't. We don't need anymore civilians thinking they can be crime-fighters."

_'Is he serious?'_ Kinley thought incredulously. She took a deep breath and pinched the space between her eyes; a chuckle burst from her, quiet at first then dissolving into giggles because _damnit he was serious._ "You're a teenage vigilante..." she had to point out because the hypocrisy was just astounding,"... from a line of kid vigilantes. I don't think you have any room to talk."

Robin scowled at her over Gelert's form. "I said civilian, not kids," he hissed. 

"And I'm not here to fight crime," she shot back," There's more than one way to help the city than punching bad guys in the face."

That was obviously not an answer he was expecting, evident by how Robin suddenly blinked in astonishment. Had he been a dog, his ears would've perked up. "What do you mean?" he asked. 

Kinley hummed. "Have you ever heard of Omnia Nos?"

* * *

  
"I still don't think a humanitarian group is gonna be able to do much," was Robin's parting words after an entire half hour of talking," We've got enough of those here."

Kinley just grinned and took it as a challenge," You'll see."

"Probably not," came his snarky reply, followed by the now familiar pop of a grapple gun. He wasn't quite yet out of sight -just landing on a rooftop- when she gave in and checked her phone. To her surprise, it was a text from Roy of all people.

_"Call when you have a chance. I have an idea."_

* * *

Jacob Acies was young and eager and he thought himself invincible. Being a quarter Amazon tended to have that effect. It meant he wasn't careful, he didn't check around corners first, he didn't look behind him when walking down the street. It also meant he didn't check his peripheral when crossing under a green traffic light. 

BAM!

The truck was dark and its headlights were off and Jacob's car was a little Honda and defenseless. The young officer never saw it coming, the jolt of the vehicle first slamming his shoulder into the door and his head hit the window. Then his car started rolling and though part Amazon, instinct was hard to kill and he let go of the steering wheel to cover his face. 

The Honda rolled twice, thrice before skidding to a halt on its roof into a mailbox. Noise... noise was everywhere and nowhere at once. A ringing, slight and high pitched, echoed in his ear and Jacob shook his head to clear it. He wished he hadn't. 

Something dripped into his eyes and when he brought his hands up -down- to wipe it, he found blood. "Fuuuck," he swore and unclipped his seatbelt. 

"Shit!" the crash onto the ceiling of his little car felt even worse. 

A car... A car hit him broadside. That's right, he was hit. A vehicle accident. He was alive, probably not that hurt, but boy was that other person going to be in a world of hurt if he found out it was a drunk driver. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he heard another car screech to a halt, then a door slam shut. 

Jacob crawled out his broken window when two booted feet stepped in front of him, blocking his way out. Through stinging eyes, he looked up. 

"Tim?"

Tim "Just Tim" Lottare stood in front of the wreck of a car that both belonged and contained his rookie partner, staring down at him as if he was disappointed he survived. He crouched down to better inspect the prone body of Jacob, uncaring if the younger man was struggling to get out of the mangled car. "Tim, help me up," Jacob hissed at him. 

"Well, actually..." Tim drawled and no move to help him," It's Timao..."

Jacob froze and stared up at him. His hand fiddled with the ring on his finger. 

The smile on his partner's face was dark and cruel. "Timao Marchetti," he said. 

_'No...'_ Jacob breathed and struggled fiercer to get out of the car," No no no no no." One hand swiped at Tim -Timao- but the older man was not within reach. "You fucker," Jacob swore at him," You _fucker_!" His other hand thumbed his ring off his middle finger, flying off his hand when he swiped at Timao with that one as well. 

The ring went unnoticed as it rolled across the sidewalk. 

"How many?" Jacob ripped the door off the frame in his rush to get out," How many are you?!" Then something pinched the side of his neck and it went deep and it _hurt_ and the last thing he saw was Timao's grinning face.

* * *

As soon as the Battaglia slumped back to the ground, Thomasi stood back up to full height and surveyed the scene. This stretch of road was quiet; no residential and all the businesses around here closed early. Still, they would need to work fast. 

"Load him in the car," he told Timao, gesturing to the truck he'd stepped out of.

Timao was still grinning like a fool as he stepped forward and grabbed one of Acies' limp arms. He whistled lowly at the ripped off door. "They weren't kidding about that Amazonian strength," he commented. 

No answer came from Thomasi, who stood off to the side and not helping drag the large Acies man across the ground. Instead he texted nonchalantly on his phone. A minute later, just as Timao was hauling Jacob's body into the backseat of the truck, two tow trucks pulled up. A team of four jumped out and immediately set to work hooking up both Acies' Honda and Timao's vehicle that he'd used to hit him.

The Marchetti officer watched them work with a speed that displayed their experience. As if he were accustomed to such a thing, Thomasi pocketed his phone and strode over to him. "They're gonna get all the debris, right?" Timao asked nervously, nodding at the clearance team.

The look he got was not a kind one. "They know what they're doing," Thomasi said chillingly," Now get in; we're on a time limit." Timao didn't need to be told twice. 

Five minutes later, all five vehicles were gone and there was not a trace they were ever there.


	49. Battaglia vs Marchetti

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slowly but surely, the shadows grow. Until they reach every crack and crevasse of the city, until there's nowhere left to hide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for scenes of torture and non-consensual drug use.

**Friday November 6th, 2020**

The train station bustled with life and noise, much more so when compared to the last time she was here. Maybe it was her being nostalgic, but when Kinley accepted her ticket from the kiosk she couldn't help but think of that night so many months ago. It had been dark and late, with no other company than the most unlikely character she could've ever expected.

As she sat down in one of the uncomfortable chairs littering the platform, Kinley stared down at the ticket in her hand. _'New York...'_ she thought morosely,_' Of all the places, New York._' She hadn't been back there in five years, not even for Trent and Dimitri's graduation. When she'd told Dimitri of her plan, that she was going back, he'd been dumbstruck. A long moment passed before he quietly asked," Will you be okay?" 

Her first instinct was to laugh it off, saying that if she survived five years ago, a weekend in the city wasn't going to kill her now. But a sudden pressure in her throat, a tingle at the base that quickly evolved into a lump hard to swallow around, stopped her. "You're in charge of Gelert until I get back," was what she said instead. 

No, Kinley did not want to return to New York, and it felt like she was returning just to greet Death like an old friend. But this wasn't about her.

* * *

"Hey, have you seen Acies?" 

Renee glanced up from her desk to see Detective Lottare standing in front of Gil. On his face was a concerned expression. "Which one?" Gil asked," Isn't there a couple?"

Tim Lottare had his cell phone in his hands and he was fiddling around with it. "No, my rookie," he elaborated, glancing between his phone and Gil," Jacob. We've got roll call in five and I haven't seen him show yet."

Well that was worth noting. Renee set down her pen and leaned back in her chair. "Have you called him yet?" she asked, pitching her voice to reach the two men across the room. 

When Lottare turned his gaze to her, he looked almost frustrated. "I've been _trying_," he held up his cell with a wave and a sigh," No answer. Hasn't been responding to my texts all morning either."

"He mentioned about hitting the bar last night," another officer piped up from his desk, Officer Marek," Probably just hungover and missed his alarm." He and Lottare exchanged looks before the latter rubbed his face with his free hand and made a frustrated sound. 

"Fuck, he probably did," he lamented, pocketing his phone," I'll check in with him after shift."

"I wouldn't want to be Acies," Gil laughed," Bock's not gonna be happy he missed shift because he was hungover."

* * *

Thomasi stared at the Battaglia and the man stared back. Jacob Acies was short for an Amazon, though Thomasi surmised that was because his Amazonian blood was diluted by a few generations of average humans. Still, that little bit was enough to make Thomasi take... precautions. 

"Don't see what you need this for..." Crane had muttered under his breath as he injected the vecuronium into the man's arm,"... Aren't the restraints enough for you people?" Chains that held Jacob Acies supposedly still, and if it gave Crane comfort to think that then Thomasi was not about to inform him. Even as the injection was going in, Jacob looked past Crane and glared at Thomasi; the both of them knowing the only reason he wasn't breaking free and strangling Crane was the five guns trained onto his forehead. 

Seven of them just to contain this one Battaglia. Thomasi couldn't wait to see what it took to contain the Mother.

Once the vecuronium was administered, Thomasi ordered Crane and the rest out of the room. "How long?" he asked the man who thought himself a scarecrow just as he was about to exit. 

Jonathon Crane glanced back at the Acies man chained to a table. _'What do they need him for?'_ he wondered, then answered," 15-30 minutes. Then the effects will start to wear off, but he won't be at full strength til at least an hour."

If Thomasi was pleased by this, he didn't smile or do anything to show it. "Thank you," he nodded, and stepped towards another table. A duffel bag sat on top that Crane didn't want to know what was held inside. 

"It's not gonna work you know," he felt he had to add. When the Marchetti turned back to him, Crane gestured to the drugged and restrained man. "The vecuronium completely paralyzes him; he won't be able to talk. So kind of pointless to interrogate him, if you ask me."

And then, for the first time since Crane's met the man, Thomasi smiled. He reached into the duffel bag and pulled out a knife. "This isn't an interrogation," he said," This is to show him I mean business."

Behind his glasses, Crane's eyes widened, but before he could ask anymore questions, another man pulled him out of the room and the door slammed behind them.

* * *

"Commissioner..." 

Gordon looked up when Chief Bock stepped in. An odd thing to be sure, Bock didn't often come up Gordon's office, what with having his hands full of running the GCPD at Central. But judging by the worried expression on Bock's face, this was not a social visit. "What can I do for you, Bock?" Gordon asked, pushing back from his desk.

"We've got an officer missing," he got straight to the point," Missed his shift yesterday, then didn't show again today. I sent a couple boys to check out his place and neighbors say he hasn't been home in two days."

_'Well fuck.'_

* * *

"Two days ago, right after shift," Tim Lottare, partner/mentor to the missing rookie officer, told him," He mentioned he was gonna grab a few drinks on his way home. I didn't notice anything til the next day. Just figured he was hungover and decided to play hooky or something."

Gordon frowned and nodded with a," Hmm." Bank statements pulled for Jacob Acies showed no pending withdrawals in the past two days or charges on his card, so unless he used cash he didn't stop at a bar or liquor store. He didn't tell Lottare that though. "Odd," he hummed instead," You partner goes out for drinks and doesn't invite you?"

"He did actually," Lottare shrugged," But I had a family dinner to get to. I've got a cousin visiting town, so that meant a big get-together at Grandma's."

Gordon made a mental note to check which cousin was visiting. "And when he didn't show up the next day?" he asked. 

"Teng and I headed over to his place. It looked empty, so I asked around and found out no one's seen hide nor hair of him."

* * *

By now, Gordon's learned to always bring a thermos with him when he lights up the signal. Who knows how long it'll take before the big man himself deigns to show up. One time Gordon sat and waited for an hour before he showed up, sopping wet and when asked, Batman just said," I thought a swim would be lovely this time of night." (The younger one, not the big one.)

So yeah, Gordon always had a thermos of coffee in hand and reports to go over in the other as he sat and waited for _someone_ to respond to the signal. Luckily, this time he didn't have to wait long. "You got something for me?" he barely reacted when a rough and grumbling voice spoke from the shadows. 

Gordon took one long sip of his coffee and tucked the reports under his arm as he stood back up. Batman was standing just a bit behind him and beyond him was the young Robin, sitting perched on a covered vent. 

"I've got a rookie cop that's gone missing," he said in lieu of greeting," It's been two days already and nobody can find him." He untucked the reports from under his arm and held them out to Batman, who took them without question. In it was Acies file: his reports from his brief time in the GCPD, his academy scores, family and emergency contacts, everything. (Gordon knew he'd just hack the GCPD files anyways; might as well save him some time.)

Robin peered over Batman's shoulder to look at the name and picture across the top page. "You don't think he's just left town?" he asked. 

While the thought of one of his officers skipping town made him bristle in offense, Gordon had to admit that the thought had crossed his mind. "No reason to, as far we know," he shook his head," Kid's only been here a few months and he's got too much family in the force."

At the mention of family in the force, Batman glanced up from the report. "He's got siblings?" he questioned," What do they think happened to him?"

"Cousins," Gordon corrected," And they're the reason I'm bringing this to you. They think he's in trouble, and lot of it. They're convinced the only reason he'd disappear is if he was taken or killed." He frowned, remembering the five rookie officers standing in his office a few hours earlier, each of them _demanding_ to be on the team investigating Acies disappearance. To Gordon, it was a headache for so many reasons, and when Detective Peterson came in and ushered all five out into the hallway he'd made a mental note to buy him a bagel later or something. 

He sighed. "Listen, he's a good kid and I don't want to take chances. If he _was_ kidnapped, then it's already been almost 48 hours and well..."

Underneath the cowl, Bruce frowned. He knew the statistics.

Gordon rubbed the bridge of his nose, there was that headache again, and bumped his glasses out of the way to do so. "Just help me bring the kid back, alright Batman?"

When no answer came, he looked back up and wasn't surprised to see nobody standing in front of him._ 'Just once I'd like to finish a conversation with that man.'_

* * *

Asshole or not, Thomasi was a meticulous bastard. He always set the timer for 30 minutes from the moment the drug kicked in and when the damn watch on the table beeped, he'd stop and back away. Twice now the bastard's done it. Jacob didn't know how long he's been here, how long ago it was when Lottare crashed his truck into his car and kidnapped him, or if anyone's noticed he was gone yet. All he knew was dark, light, and the two times Thomasi came in with an assortment of men and a skinny twig of a man called Crane. Then all he knew after that was being frozen and helpless as Thomasi practiced his cutlery skills on Jacob's flesh. 

He screamed. Couldn't move his mouth or form words, but Jacob screamed the first time that knife dug into his flesh and carved into his skin. Never deep enough to kill, but sharp enough to sting and hurt and feel the nerves cut open as Thomasi diligently whittled a shape onto Jacob's pec. That was the first time, and after he'd left him alone in the stone room, bleeding and exhausted and in pain, Jacob reached up and felt the shape of a B. 

_'Just like Jonathon,_' he'd realized in horror.

The second time, Thomasi started talking. Nothing of worth, nothing that mattered to Jacob. Just little facts about the human body and anatomy as he shoved a scalpel under his fingernails. Jacob screamed for that one too and felt tears fall down his face when he couldn't _move_, couldn't defend himself or push him away as he felt the blade cut into him. Then the timer went off and Thomasi stepped away, still talking. 

Only now his words had changed. This time talking of the Marchettis and the Battaglias and how they're just two gears in one large machine. It didn't make much sense, but he remembered hearing him say," Do you know what a cult is, Acies?" 

Jacob was unable to answer, but that didn't stop Thomasi from continuing as he put his instruments away," A group or sect bound together by veneration to a person, ideal, or deity. You have your set of rites and traditions, all in honor of the thing you worship..." He turned his head and looked at him over his shoulder. 

"You all love your Mother, don't you?" he asked quietly," But what about your Father?" 

Jacob knew enough to know he wasn't spouting off Christian nonsense, but was too exhausted to muster up more than a glare. 

Thomasi sighed, as if he'd expected a riveting answer from him. "It's what I don't understand," he spoke softly," Your Mother accepts that you'll die for her, _expects_ it even... and you still love her. Father doesn't expect us to die, doesn't _want_ us to die for him. He just wants us to bring the family together."

"Not..." Jacob gritted out through frozen teeth," Father."

The Marchetti turned around. "Hmm?"

It was past the half hour mark and Jacob could feel the control returning to his muscles. "_Not_...Father," he spat out," He's not the father of _anything_. That's just a bitch ass title he came up with and thinks himself a god."

The look Thomasi threw his way spoke of deep offense and Jacob thought_,' Good. Let him come over and try and do something about it.'_ But Thomasi was nothing if not a smart man, and knew if Jacob was able to talk, then the drug was wearing off and fast. It would be dangerous to approach him now. 

So instead of answering, he picked up his duffel bag and slammed the door on his way out. 

In the dark, Jacob laid his head back down and cried.

* * *

**Saturday November 7th, 2020**   
**Jacob Acies' Apartment**

The apartment wasn't empty when they arrived. They could see the light on in the window, yet the report had said Jacob Acies had no significant other. And true, when Batman opened the 5th story window, and they slipped in, it was a fellow police officer sitting on the couch with a spread of papers on the coffee table. 

"Who are _you_?" Robin asked and next thing he knew, the officer was leaping to his feet and hand reaching for his hip. Then all Damian saw was black as his father stepped in front of him.

"Freez- Batman?!" the officer exclaimed. 

"Hnn," Father grunted, his displeased sound even if he refused to admit it. 

The officer made a matching grunting sound, possibly because he was equally displeased or because he was being contrary. "Anyone ever tell you not to sneak up on the guy with a gun?" the officer was saying just as Damian stepped around Batman (_'Really, Father, you didn't need to shield me,'_ he thought sourly) and saw that he'd drawn his weapon. It was pointed toward the ceiling now, in obvious display that he meant no harm. 

"Commish said he was gonna try and get you on board," he said while reholstering," I just didn't think you'd get here so quick."

It didn't take Batman long to figure it out. "You're the officer assigned to the case," he stated. 

"Christopher Peterson," the officer introduced himself. At the same time, he held up his badge for them to see. 

Damian recognized the name; this was the guy who was always around Gordon. Funny, Damian had always assumed he was some sort of secretary and not an actual detective like his badge stated. Father, however, didn't seem too surprised. "What do you have so far?" he asked.

Peterson gestured to the coffee table full of papers, half of which Damian noticed was unopened mail. "There's a few days worth of mail, so he hasn't been home since he went missing," he explained," I was hoping he had reports or a threatening letter or something to point who might've taken him."

Curious about the papers, Damian strode forward and picked one up. This looked like a list of some sort...

"I was told his cousins think he was kidnapped," behind him he could hear Father still talking to the officer," What about you?"

Whether he was asking if Peterson also thought Acies was taken, or if he had skipped town, the question didn't bother the blonde officer too much. When he answered, it was matter of fact and even toned. "I'm inclined to believe them," he said," Jacob's whole life was the PD. He wouldn't run off, not without good reason."

_'However...'_ Damian thought to himself, reading over the list he'd found in Jacob Acies' papers. "Unless he was in over his head," he interjected and held the paper up for them to see," He was investigating the Iceberg Lounge and all of its financial sponsors." A risky thing, for a simple GCPD cop to be looking at. 

Father seemed to agree. Even with the cowl, his frown was very noticeable. "Big fish for a rookie officer to be investigating."

Peterson didn't miss a beat. "You know, I could say something about a certain man in black with no formal law enforcement training..." he said, one blonde eyebrow raised in a challenge,"... but I'll leave you to stipulate."

Batman didn't say a word to that, but well... now he could see why Gordon kept Chris around. 

"But the Iceberg Lounge is a bust, kid," the officer turned back towards Damian," Those are old reports; half the people on that list have moved on to other 'business opportunities'," his tone didn't change, but Damian had the eery feeling he did not mean it in the legal sense," Penguin's got a whole new set of sponsors for his little casino."

He wasn't wrong... Still, Damian frowned and looked back over the list._ 'Unless he wasn't investigating Cobblepot,'_ he wondered, but didn't say anything. Surely if he was thinking it, then so was his father already.

"Did Jacob have any enemies?" 

A beat passed, then Chris answered," None from Gotham. Got in a few fights back in his home town of Philly, but I doubt they'd bother coming all the way here." 

Wouldn't be the strangest or pettiest thing they've seen. Batman narrowed his eyes and Damian knew they'd be looking into those records later tonight. For now, though," So no enemies, no motive... Robin, what's your theory?"

Damian blinked, fully not expecting Father to ask his opinion on this missing person case. Still... he looked back at the papers -messily thrown and disorganized- then around the living room. On his face, underneath the mask, the furrow between his brows deepened as Robin thought. "He wasn't expecting to leave..." he mused," The heater is still on and wasn't turned down, that's a gym bag by the front closet with running shoes still in it. No signs of a struggle or break in, so if someone _did_ take him it wasn't from here."

"Where's his car?" he asked the officer. 

(Behind Peterson, maybe it was Damian's imagination but he almost thought he saw a smile on Batman's face.)

"Not here," Peterson was saying," And I know for a fact he was driving it Thursday the morning before he went missing."

Batman stepped forward. "So let's find the car. And maybe we'll find Jacob Acies."


	50. I'm an Acies, Bitch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Batman and Robin are on the case

The officer at the monitor desk had been there for years and took his job a bit too seriously. Which was ironic because he worked in a police station, surrounded by police officers, and it was a police officer who was asking for the security footage. "I'm gonna tell you the same thing I told those Acies guys," he said, surrounded by his desktop full of empty soda cans and a suspicious food stain on the lapel of his uniform," I can't just give you access to the cameras man. You've gotta go to your SO first, then once my supervisor gives me the all clear, _then_ I can find whatever footage you're looking for."

"This is an _active_ investigation," Peterson argued," I don't _need_ to have my SO sign off on this before looking at the camera footage. I need to know if Jacob Acies left the station at 9pm Thursday night."

The asshole sitting at the desk glared right back at him," Not until your SO talks to my SO. _Then_ I can review the footage for you and I'll get back to you if I find anything."

Peterson pinched the bridge of his nose before quite blatantly shoving his badge under the other guy's face. "I _am_ a commanding officer," he said lowly, almost a growl. The other officer ('_He definitely doesn't ever do patrol,'_ Robin thought, hanging back in the shadows with his father) barely glanced at the badge but scoffed at it anyways. 

"Not any commanding officer I know," he snorted," This just says you're a detective."

Peterson, for however calm he was when talking to Batman earlier that night, looked about ready to throttle the man before him. "That's right, I'm Detective Christopher Peterson and I'm investigating the disappearance of Jacob Acies," he said through gritted teeth. 

The camera guy didn't look all that impressed. With one eyebrow raised in a,'I don't give a fuck,' manner, he stared at Peterson and took a bite of his burger, chewing obnoxiously. Robin grimaced; if Peterson wasn't going to punch this guy, then _he_ would. "I don't know you from Adam," the desk jockey retorted. 

"I bet you know _me_." He jumped at the sound of a new voice, rough and growling like gravel, and nearly bolted right out of his chair when Batman stepped out of the shadows. He was taller than Peterson, a black shapeless form with a face looming over Peterson's shoulder and staring directly at Desk Jockey. "Time is of the essence and the sooner we get a timeline for Jacob Acies, the sooner we can find him," he said. 

He worded it like a request but his tone said he was getting that camera footage one way or another. 

Damian stepped forward, sadly with not near as much dramatics, and glared at the sitting officer. Said man was already past his surprise and alternated glaring between Batman and Peterson. "You brought the Bat into an official police investigation?" he sneered," Now I'm _really_ not gonna give you access to the cameras. You can't just let a civilian view private video footage of a police station!"

Batman was the furthest thing from a civilian, but Damian had the feeling it would go over this guy's head if they tried explaining it to him. 

"Fuck this..." Peterson mumbled under his breath and pulled out his cell phone. Turning away from Desk Jockey and completely ignoring him, he thumbed out a text. Curious, Damian leaned over but couldn't see what he was texting, even after it pinged back twice.

"You want me to contact my SO?" he turned his head and said -loudly- back at the difficult officer," Let's see what he says." 

"Go ahead, call the Sergeant!" he gloated back.

Damian tried to contain his grin._ 'I don't think he's texting a sergeant,'_ he thought, knowing it was Gordon, the _Commissioner of the GCPD_, who put him on this case. Seeing Robin trying to peer at his phone, Peterson gave him a tight grin and surreptitiously tilted his phone so the text boxes were visible. 

It was a group message, with three numbers including his own. 

**Outgoing: Is it GCPD policy to not let a detective review footage of the police station in regards to an active investigation? This guy is saying I have to have my SO contact his SO before he'll even consider reviewing the cameras, and only then he'll get back to me 'if he finds anything'.**

There were two immediate replies. 

**HR Nancy: Yeah, that's bullshit mate. It's the freaking police station. You have every right to look at those cameras. Any officer does. **

**Gordon: Do you have your bodycam on? You have it recorded that he said those exact words?**

**Outgoing: Of course. Got it all.**

Tilting his head so that the other officer couldn't see, Peterson winked at Robin just as another text came in.

**Gordon: He's impeding an active investigation. You know what to do, Peterson.**

"Samuel Delgado," Peterson spun on his heel and faced the man at the desk with a far more pleasant expression than he had just two minutes ago," You are under arrest. Stand up and put your hands behind your head."

"_What?!_" Delgado did the exact opposite of that and slammed his fist on the desk, making the soda cans rattle," Listen, man, I get you don't like the policy, but you can't just arrest me! Prissy ass bastard, I'm a cop too!"

Though his face was professionally blank, there was a hint of amusement to Peterson's tone as he pulled out a set of handcuffs. "And you're impeding an active investigation on another missing cop," he said," Now... do I have to add resisting an arrest on top of that charge?"

"You're not gonna fucking arrest me!"

Peterson glanced at Batman and held up one finger," One minute, please." Then he rushed forward, handcuffs at the ready.

* * *

"Okay," the blonde detective sat at the now vacant chair and pulled the keyboard towards him; it had gotten pushed back a little in the struggle," Password, password, where is..." he looked under the mouse and saw it scrawled on the bottom in sharpie," Aha." He typed it in.

"Fuckers! Every single one of you! Do you have any idea how illegal this is?!" Delgado yelled, his face red from exertion (or because he wouldn't stop hollering) and his hands cuffed behind his back. He tried rising to his feet but Robin was keeping a firm foot on the chain between the cuffs, so that every time he so much as tried to stand they would dig into his wrists and he'd be pulled back to the floor. 

He tried again and cursed when Robin just added more weight to the cuffs. The 14 year old groaned. "Are you _sure_ I can't knock him out?" he asked," He's louder than a langur monkey."

"That's an official police arrest," Peterson said without taking his eyes off the screen," There will be no 'knocking him out'."

"The hell it is!" Delgado screeched," There's no way this is sanctioned! You're gonna get your ass fired for this. Misconduct! Abuse of power!"

Peterson did not give one fuck and pulled up the cameras he needed. "Besides, Renee's on her way down to take him away for booking," he added, reminding them that as soon as he'd wrestled Delgado to the ground, he'd texted a fellow officer to come meet him in the data room. 

With a smug smile, he found the camera angle he wanted. "Okay, so here we are," he called Batman over," Jacob's shift ended Thursday 9 o'clock. There's his car, see?" He pointed to a section of screen where a grey Honda Accord sat in perfect view. Peterson scrolled through the timeslot, fast forwarding until the car disappeared. Stopped, rewound, zoomed in on the time frame and played it back slower. 

At 9:23, a young officer with dark hair ("That's Jacob," Peterson said) walked up to the car -alone- and got in. He sat for a few minutes, starting the car then looking at his phone, before backing out the parking spot. Peterson changed the camera angle a few times, following Jacob's journey out of the parking garage before he pulled out into traffic and out of range. 

It really didn't show them much. With a disappointed sigh, Peterson sat back in the chair (ignoring Delgado's continued yelling) and pinched the bridge of his nose. "It appears he was texting someone before he left," Bruce pointed out, reaching out to rewind the footage to a frame where they could clearly see Jacob on his phone," Someone he was supposed to meet with?"

"Give me a couple hours and I'll get the phone records," Peterson offered. 

Bruce knew for a fact that he'd have to get a warrant for those phone records, and there weren't many judges awake at this time of night. At best, it took GCPD half a day to get phone records. He wondered how Chris Peterson planned on getting them in a couple hours. 

"Find out who he was texting," he said instead," Robin and I will follow up on another lead."

* * *

**"_Please_ tell me your mask cam was on when Chris arrested Delgado,"** Barbara's voice greeted them the instant they got back to the Batmobile. She sounded how Damian felt; infinitely entertained. The fight had lasted a grand total of 45 seconds, Delgado of course not being in fit enough shape to contend with Peterson and the detective knew plenty of pain compliance techniques to force the other to put his hands behind his back. 

"I'll show you the footage later," Bruce told her the same time Damian blurted out," That's the first time I've ever seen someone from the GCPD other than Gordon actually _arrest_ a dirty cop."

Batman threw him a look. "We don't know yet if he's dirty or just an idiot. He could've fully believed he couldn't review the camera footage without his commanding officer."

**"Nah, Delgado's always been an asshole,"** Barbara said in contrary,**"I wouldn't be surprised if he was using the cameras to spy on other cops. In fact..."** The sound of her typing echoed over the Batmobile's speakers,** " I think I'm gonna go through his hard drives to see what he's been up to. Ooh, Renee's having fun booking him in to the jail right now. 'Obstruction of justice, resisting arrest, attempted assault on a police officer,' she's going for the full bang."**

Damian couldn't help but smile._ 'Good.'_

"You'll have to look into that later, Oracle," Bruce interjected," I could use some assistance looking into the traffic cams."

**"Sure thing. What are we looking for?"**

"A missing cop," he told her," Jacob Acies, graduated from the academy a few months ago." His fingers flew over the console keyboard and the screen popped up with the GCTCC's (Gotham City Traffic Control Center) database login page. A few moments later, he was in. Considering how expansive Gotham City was, the database was massive, with traffic cameras and lights on almost every corner. Each section of the city had it's own server, listed off by a grid name. Bruce signed in to the Central Grid's cameras using an encryption key he'd gotten from Tim few years ago. 

**"I know the one,"** Barbara confirmed,"** What do we got so far?"**

He listed off the police station's address and the time Jacob's car was last seen. "Look for a light grey Honda Accord," he instructed," Last seen heading east on Andru Street."

**"I see it."**

City Hall District was well monitored, with plenty of both traffic cams and institutional security systems for them to look through. It was easy to follow Jacob Acies' car, despite the evening traffic. But then they lost sight of it when he got on the Aparo Expressway.

"He mentioned going to a bar, there's a few cop bars in the Upper East Side," Bruce said, switching servers. 

"I know a couple right off the Aparo," she agreed," I'll look at those if you keep an eye on the streets."

As they sat in the Batmobile, going over traffic cams aimed at the off ramps from the Aparo, Damian pondered. There was nothing in the bank statements, in the credit report, to say he'd spent any money at a bar. Granted it was entirely possible he could've used cash, but wouldn't there be ATM records of him withdrawing funds? 

Besides, why would he go to a bar alone?

"His residence is in Robbinsville..." he chewed on the inside of his cheek, thinking. Bruce glanced up at him.

"What was that, Robin?"

Without asking or waiting, Damian reached over and swung the laptop over to him. As he typed in the IP for a different traffic cam server, he explained," The Aparo Expressway is the fastest way to the north island; it runs right next to Robbinsville. I don't think he was going to a bar. I think he was on his way home."

There was only one exit at the peninsula, turning from busy expressway into a business district, a cluster of shops and malls. After a little bit of scrolling, sure enough... Damian found the little grey car getting off the highway and stopping at a red light. 

He grinned victoriously. 

"Good job," Bruce said and Damian felt his smile falter a little bit in surprise. "Let's see if we can track him further. You getting this, Oracle?"

**"Right with ya, Bats,"** she said over the comms,**" Good thinking, Robin."**

Blushing with the praise, Damian resumed flitting between the different cameras for the neighborhood, trying to find the grey Honda. The neighborhood was mainly shops, a little shopping district that actually closed at night. There were no other cars on the road, with the hour being almost 10pm as Acies took a straight route back home. 

_'But he never made it home,'_ Damian thought, remembering the stack of mail on the coffee table and the neighbor's statements that they never saw him.

Whatever happened to Jacob Acies happened in this stretch of ro-

**"There!"**

They found it...

A traffic light, Jacob Acies driving through a green light just before he hit the residential part of Robbinsville. The camera was in shitty condition; there must be a gap between the outer dome and camera, allowing moisture to get in and condensation to fog up half of the lens. But it was enough to see the Honda enter the intersection-

-and a massive black truck barrel right into it. 

The force of the collision was _substantial_. The camera had no audio, but Damian could practically _hear_ the screech of metal. The little Honda went rolling, right out of view into the fogged up section. The water droplets made it impossible to see details, but colors and lights flashing gave them a general idea that the rolling car eventually came to a stop. The black truck, with its front end damaged, pulled up next to it just as a matching vehicle drove onto the scene. 

The third vehicle was blessedly within view and when a man stepped out of the driver side, Damian paused the video. "Who's that?" he asked, but neither he nor Batman could tell. 

Barbara was equally frustrated.** "The quality's not good enough to get a proper shot of his face,"** she huffed, her voice accompanied with clicking as she presumably messed around with her mouse,**" Looks like black male, a little over 6 feet, light colored clothes..."**

That gave them almost nothing.

Damian restarted the video, and a second later they saw their mystery man dodge a.... "Is that a _car door_?" he gaped. 

It was... a freaking light colored car door went skidding along the ground and the man nimbly jumped over it. Then he ran out of view, towards the two vehicles. They continued watching and a minute later two more forms came into view. 

One unconcious, the other dragging his body to the truck. 

"That's gotta be Jacob," Bruce muttered," And that must be the driver of the other truck." They still couldn't tell who it was, just a white male wearing dark clothes and hauling Jacob Acies' body into the back seat. 

What got interesting however, was the two tow trucks that rushed onto the scene. Four men scurried about, all with black caps pulled over their faces. Not even five minutes later, everyone loaded up into the remaining trucks and they were gone. **"Damn..."** Barbara cursed,**" I couldn't get a good angle on any of them. None of them looked up. And that stupid blind spot..."**

"That was a well executed plan," Bruce agreed," I wouldn't be surprised if they knew about the camera and chose that exact location. Look into the tow trucks, I didn't see a logo but they had to have come from a towing company."

**"You got it. What are you guys going to do?"**

Batman switched the gear out of park and pulled out of the alleyway they'd been sitting in. "Robin and I are going to look at the site."

* * *

Thomasi got sloppy and didn't set the timer. Either that or Crane didn't use as much as he had before. Vecuronium wasn't something he could build a tolerance to and even if his biology allowed for it, there was no way twice was enough. But forgotten timer or not, lesser dosage or not, all Jacob knew was that when Thomasi turned around he could move his arm. 

He felt lethargic and weak, but he could _move_.

Thomasi had left the knife beside him, confident that he wouldn't be able to do anything. The chains were still there of course, binding him to this metal gurney. But still -and he blamed this entirely on pure adrenaline- Jacob was able to snap those clean through with his hands and pick up the knife. 

They must've been watching for it, prepared, because as soon as he broke the chains, a flurry of armed men stormed into the room. Thomasi turned in surprise as Jacob stood, wobby at first but gaining strength back fast. All five men aimed their guns at him and safeties were clicked off. 

"Wait," Thomasi held a hand out to them. There was a curious expression on his face as he regarded the man on the other side of the room. "There's no point in it," he said, though never taking his eyes off Jacob," You have the strength, but not the speed. By the time you get halfway across this room, there will be five bullets in your head." Perhaps to emphasize his point, one of the Marchetti gunmen flicked on his laser pointer so that a red dot appeared on Jacob's forehead. 

Jacob frowned and gripped the knife tighter in his hand. "Either way, I'm dead," he spoke lowly, eyes flickering from Thomasi to the other men. No masks, on anyof them. "I know what this mark is," he turned back to Thomasi and gestured to his chest with his free and bloody hand," I know what you did to Jonathon. You were never going to let me live."

At least Thomasi had the decency not to lie to him. "No," he said plainly, then he quirked an eyebrow," Though there is always the chance your clan might rescue you in time."

It was so nonchalantly added, just a whim of his, missing just the wave of his hand as Thomasi considered the possibility of a Battaglia or hell, even a Bat, reaching him in time. Jacob almost laughed; it was so _fake_. Thomasi was confident no one was coming in time. If there was _any_ possibility of Jacob making it out of this alive, why else would they reveal Timao's true identity?

"Wanna know something, jackass?" Jacob said instead, and even though it was petty, he enjoyed the offended look on Thomasi's face when he called him jackass," We've got a saying in the Acies family. Learned it from the Mother and everything."

It was the first bit of information he'd offered up and Thomasi's eyes lit in intrigue. "And what, pray tell, is that?" 

Jacob's fingers squeezed around the hilt of the knife, a little thing but sharp and deadly. "Where one goes, we all go." He'd said that, hadn't he? Gods, it seemed like so long ago when he was graduating from the GCPD Academy, when the Chief (the _Chief_!) of Police came up to talk to him. Jacob had been so proud then; so proud to be a part of something, something _big_. 

There was a chance of failure. There was _always_ a chance of failure. 

"Omnia nos..." he said lowly, his eyes just as sharp as the knife in his hand,"... contra te..."

(_"Your mother would be proud of you,"_ Eumelia had said when he volunteered, showed her his application to the Academy.

Jacob blinked at her in surprise. He hadn't been expecting praise, just permission. 

Eumelia was a pure Amazon and so seemed like a goddess in his eyes, a mighty woman of grace and poise. Such was the role of the Leader of the Corsicans; the only one with authority higher than hers was Mother._ "How..."_ he fumbled for words_,"... how do you know?")_

His mother... His eyes longed to drift shut and he wanted to remember Saturday afternoons going for a drive down to the lake. He wanted to think of her crooked smile and how everything was a game to her, how she made people laugh. But it was so long ago and all he could remember was an airy hospital room, the smell of sickness hanging in the air, his uncle's hand on his shoulder as he said goodbye. 

(_"The road ahead will be long,"_ Eumelia had never lied to him before and she had no reason to then,_" It will be difficult and painful, and there is no guarantee we will succeed. You know this, yet you still come to me seeking to be a part of it." _

_"I know your mother would be proud of you, because** I** am."_)

"Huh," Thomasi made a sound almost like a scoff," I thought it was supposed to go _omnia nos, auxilio aliis_?"

The smile on Jacob's face was bloody, bitter, and scornful. It _was_. For the Battaglias. "I'm an Acies, bitch," he cursed. With a flick of his wrist, he flipped the knife so he held it by the blade. Then he raised his arm, poised to throw- 

**BANG!BANG!BANG!BANG!BANG!**

Five gunshots echoed in the small room...


	51. Meanwhile in NYC pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "How well do you react to surprises?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So bit of timeline here.  
Jacob went missing Thursday night.   
Kinley got a train to NYC Friday afternoon.   
Gordon wasn't informed of Jacob being missing until Saturday night.

**Friday November 6th, 2020**   
**New York City, NY**

Unlike Gotham City Station, Grand Central Station was loud, noisy, and crowded. Jason could barely hear himself _think_ over the booming intercom, let alone hear whatever Roy was telling him. The brat still wouldn't tell him what they were doing there. A fact Jason found infinitely annoying, not being able to understand what Roy was looking for as they walked around. 

First it was," We gotta stop at the car rental counter," which was _stupid_ in NYC. Not that they rented a car anyways. Roy just talked a bit, then moved on. Then it was off to look at the departing trains, but as much as Jason questioned, they didn't buy a single ticket. Then Roy got hungry and spent _forever_ ordering at Eata Pita, what with between being glued to his phone or hemming and hawing on what to get. 

By the time he decided on two meals instead of one, Jason was about ready to walk out of the station entirely. 

It was halfway through their meal, sitting in a nondescript corner of the concourse, that Jason's phone buzzed in his pocket. Without thinking much of it, he thumbed open the text, but then sat staring at the message in complete confusion. 

_"How well do you react to surprises?"_

_'Great,'_ he thought, _'Now what is Ptero up to?'_ But before he could text back, another message came in.

_"Hey handsome, looking mighty fine in that turtleneck today."_

"What the hell?" To say he was startled would be an understatement. _How_ the hell would Ptero know what kind of shirt he was wearing today? Jason looked around with wide eyes," What...?" Roy caught his eye and with a grin, pointed over his shoulder. 

"No..." Jason breathed out and twisted in his seat and," What the _fuck_?!"

A woman with dark hair and her arm in a sling stood directly behind him with the biggest smile he's ever seen. "Language," she berated him but whatever effect it had was lost by the absolutely delighted expression on her face. 

Pterodactyl was _here_.

"Surpriiiiise," she said, hand raised in a ta-da motion. 

The chair made a horrible squeaking sound on the concourse floor as Jason shot to his feet. "What the fuck are you doing here?" he breathed out, more shocked than angry. Despite his callous words, the smile did not fall from her face. 

"I'm here to get my falafel."

_'Her what?'_ Jason was dumbfounded. 

From behind him, he could hear Roy laughing and Jason whipped around to glare. "_You_..." he seethed," You're behind this, aren't you?"

Roy held up his hands in appeasement. "Guilty as charged," he admitted," You would not _believe_ how hard it was to keep it a surprise." AKA how hard it was to pull one over on the ever paranoid Jason Todd. Said man was too busy still reeling, wondering _why_, to figure out the _how_.

"I'm almost sad I didn't get a picture of his face when he saw me," Pterodactyl lamented, but with laughter in her voice," Now where's my falafel? I'm hungry, damnit." With a grin, Roy waved the stick for her to see. The stupid second meal he'd hemmed and hawed over and supposedly 'couldn't make up his mind.'

Jason should've known.

Were it not for Pterodactyl eagerly reaching for the food that evidently had always been for her, he might've reached over the table and strangled Roy. It may or may not have been because of the ridiculous amount of time they spent in front of the Eata Pita counter. 

"You were texting her this whole time?!" he instead settled for yelling. 

Pterodactyl and Roy exchanged glances -_'And when did they get all chummy all of a sudden?'_ Jason thought sourly- before Roy shrugged in apology. "Would you have gone along with it if you knew?" he asked. 

"Yes," he bit out, then grimaced," Maybe?" Okay, maybe he would've freaked out if he'd known he was going to see Ptero in person again. "I don't know."

He looked over at her, munching away happily on herbed and fried chickpea and watching him with interest. Don't think he didn't notice her left arm in a sling or that brace strapped around her knee. "And _you_..." she blinked when he pointed a finger under her nose and scolded," You're still recovering from that clinic episode. You should be at home, _resting_."

As if completely undeterred by his words, she slowly finished chewing before placing her food down. The two of them spent a moment staring at each other. Her quiet and thoughtful, her dark eyes boring into him and wow, he forgot how _deep_ that gaze was. Him seething and silently panicking, because if she was _here_, if she was in front of him once again, then it wasn't... it couldn't be just that night at the train station. Maybe it was Jason deluding himself, maybe it was his stubborness at play, but if it was just that hour of time, then it was okay if he kept thinking of her as nobody. 

Just a voice in the void.

But if she was here, now, then she was very much real. 

"This is me meeting you halfway," she said. 

'Meeting him halfway'... He remembered the conversation. And all that weird Rule #3 stuff as well, but he also remembered telling her not to bother. Then she went ahead and did it anyways. 

Her arm reached out and her hand pressed gently on the center of his chest. Her _left_ hand, he noticed with alarm; it was shaking minutely but it was firm and pressed right at the intersection of his scar but he knew for a fact she didn't know about that he didn't know what to _do_ and now his scar was hurting and-

Then she flexed her hand and like a balloon popping, all the pressure he felt on his lungs dissipated. It had been a constant, a dull presence that he hadn't even noticed it until it was gone. Jason stared at her with wide eyes and she smiled brightly at him. 

"Hi. My name's Kinley. Just Kinley."

Jason sucked in a breath. 

Kinley. Her _name_ was Kinley. Her honest to goodness name. Distantly, he might've been aware of Roy pumping his fist in victory, but Jason was too busy gaping at Pterodactyl. At _Kinley_.

"I'm..." His mouth opened and closed like some water deprived fish and that's a hell lot like how he felt right now and oh, right. He should probably breathe. 

Name. Right. She told him her name and so he should probably tell her his? (Why did that sound like a question in his head?) "Myname'sJasonorJayifyouwanttocallmethat," he got out in one breath. 

Roy facepalmed and she giggled._ 'Smooth, Jason, real smooth,_' he bemoaned. Clearing his throat, he tried again. "Jason," he repeated," I'm Jason."

Kinley grinned and he's not sure if he noticed it the first time they met, but it really was a crooked smile as one side went a little higher. "I'm really glad to meet you, Jason," she said and yeah, he was really glad to meet her too.

* * *

An AirBNB. Roy got a freaking AirBNB sometime in the past week they've been in NYC. Kinley even gave him pointers on where to get one because _apparently_ not only were they communicating behind his back but she was staying the entire weekend. Alright, that was a little mean to say they've been going behind his back (but did Roy seriously call her last week just to verify that he knew who she was?) but Jason did feel a little bitter over the fact. 

She was his penpal first. Roy wouldn't even _know_ her if it weren't for Jason. 

So if he squeezed himself into the middle seat of the cab, enduring his wide shoulders getting bumped with every turn in the road, just so he could sit between the two of them...then well, he was wholly justified. (Roy had given him a funny look when Jason slid over and took the middle seat while Kinley put her duffel bag in the trunk. Jason's response was to motion a 'zip it!' sign.)

And if Jason purposefully scooched himself over so that Roy was practically smushed against the car door, well... then that was just for fun. "I didn't think you'd be petty about it," the redhead grumbled. Jason pinched his leg. 

"Kinley, tell him he's being petty!"

"Children, the both of you," said woman just said from the other side of the taxi's backseat, looking a little squeezed herself as the top her head nearly hit the ceiling. She was taller than Jason remembered, but then again he'd been Exhausted-capital-E that night in Gotham. Not that it didn't suit her! It just wasn't every day Jason met a woman nearly as tall as him. 

"And yet you love us anyways," Roy chirped up.

And maybe it was Jay's imagination, but he swore he saw a smile on her face as she turned to look out the window.

* * *

_'Five years...' _

The last memory Kinley had of this city was a night where the lights turned the sky orange, and she was in a taxi not unlike this one. Only last time, she'd been heading out of the city, not in it. She'd watched out the window, just like she was now, seeing the buildings and streets fly past and making the conscious decision she wouldn't see them again. 

So how ironic was it that when they passed a bistro, she knew it and knew that on Saturdays the cook made the _best_ ham and spinach omelette ever? 

The taxi back then had been spacious in comparison, with just her in the backseat and feeling a noticeable emptiness. Trent and Dimitri had stayed behind, willing to finish out their degrees. Now, the cab was almost stuffy and crowded, but the occasional bump of Jason's shoulder (Jason... his name was _Jason_) against hers was more comforting than disruptive. The two men bickered like only best friends could do, even as Jason leaned over and attempted to squish him between the door and his bulk. 

"Kinley, tell him he's being petty!" Roy, the red haired one that smiled so genuinely, spoke up.

If Jason was being petty, then Kinley did not know the reason why. There was a number of things they could be in disagreement about but she felt none of the true turmoil people felt when truly fighting with their friends. They were just boys being boys. 

"Children, the both of you," was her answer.

And when Roy chirped up with," And yet you love us anyways!" she couldn't help but smile. 

She wondered what he'd say if he knew...

* * *

"So he's the cook..." Roy pointed at Jason, who was currently garnishing six fillets of salmon with a 'Kiss the Cook' apron that Roy just _had_ to get at the grocery store," ...and you're the baker?" He next pointed to Kinley, with a whisk in one hand and holding a bowl steady on the counter with the other. Whatever was inside was white and creamy and Roy swore he saw her put lemon juice in there at one point. 

Grocery shopping had been fun; bringing it all back to the rented apartment had been more so as that meant settling in and trying to figure out the new dynamics. Jay and Roy had their thing, then Jay and Kinley had their own -kinda?- thing, but put the three together in the same room for the first time? Things were bound to get interesting.

Roy had a front row seat to all of it, seated at the kitchen island that doubled as a dinner table. The two idiots in front of him had apparently bonded over food, but there was a limit to it. They were awkward and bumbling at first, clearly not used to someone else in their cooking space. More than once, one would turn around too fast or take a step back without looking and bump in to the other. When Jason almost knocked the cream cheese out of her hands, Kinley took all her ingredients to one section of counter and hissed at him to stay on his side of the kitchen. 

This was going so much better than Roy expected. 

"Just don't ask her to make cookies," Jason teased. 

Kinley groaned dramatically," They're soft and _perfect_ when they come out of the oven, but then they're hard as stone five minutes later."

"So take them out of the oven earlier."

"Then they're mushy and uncooked on the inside!"

"And yet somehow you claim you can make the perfect chocolate chip cookies."

Kinley aimed the whisk at him as if it were a weapon. "Keep it up and you won't get any cheese pie," she warned. Roy doubted she'd hold true to the threat, and neither did Jay it seemed, judging by the smug look on his face. 

Yeah, this was going great.

* * *

They worked.... well, not _good_ together in the kitchen, but it was the first time in a long time Jason's ever had someone else working alongside him while he cooked supper. Roy tried to help sometime, but he often got too gung-ho about experimenting and more than not he ended up scorching the food to a burning crisp. Which almost always resulted getting kicked out by Jason. Roy was chaos in the kitchen.

Pterodactyl, _'Kinley'_, he reminded himself, was a calm presence in the room when she didn't have an audience. As soon as Roy wandered off to tinker with who-knows-what in his bedroom, she fell quiet as she worked. Not that Jason didn't mind quiet. It was fascinating to watch her out of the corner of his eye while he idly pushed the green beans around in the pan. 

Sometime, he didn't notice when, she'd started playing music on her phone much like that night they met.

**You never know when you're gonna meet someone**   
**And your whole wide world in a moment comes undone**

To Jason, the guitar made him think of country. To Kinley, it must not have been what she'd been wanting to play, for her head popped up like a deer's. 

**You're just walking around and suddenly**   
**Everything that you thought you knew-**

And again, _just_ like that night in the train station, her hand whipped out and pushed a button, bringing the music to a jarring stop. 

The opening lines to a very familiar Goo Goo Dolls song started playing instead.

**And I'd give up forever to touch you**   
**Cause I know that you feel me somehow**   
**You're the closest to heaven-**

She ended that song really quick too. 

This time, Jason had to turn and ask. "Can't find a song you like?" 

**Even if you see my scars-**

Kinley gave up and paused the music, looking at him with what she probably thought was an innocent expression. "Huh?" she blinked, then sighed when he gave her a Look. "Maybe I disagree with the shuffle mode," the way she said it spoke of more sass than answer. Especially the way she appeared to glare at her own phone. 

It was just this side of ridiculous and reminded him more of Roy than the girl he'd come to associated with on the phone. "Then pick the song yourself," he suggested with a shake of his head. 

Even though Jason was pretending to concentrate on the pan in front of him, there was no way to miss the way she stuck her tongue out him. And she called _them_ children? A moment later the steady tones of a violin drifted through the kitchen. 

Other than the phone semi-quietly playing, they fell silent once more. Kinley poured a mixture of graham cracker crumbs and butter in the bottom of a pie dish she found while Jason browned the green beans to within an inch of their life. But he wasn't really focused on the beans. 

Jason hasn't shared a kitchen -_really_ shared a kitchen with someone- since Alfred was teaching him how to make beef wellington. 

The kitchen at the manor had been immaculate as it should be when Alfred ran his domain like a well run kingdom. Cooking there had been fun, educational, and some of his best memories were made in that kitchen. (If Jason thought hard, really really hard, he might even remember a time Bruce attempted to cook alongside them and ended up burning a pot of noodles.)

Kinley hummed to music where Alfred would work in silence. Kinley pushed the dirty dishes off to one side instead of putting them straight into the sink like Alfred would. Kinley's hips swayed to the beat as she- and _whoa_, what was he doing looking at her hips?! Jason tore his eyes away from the woman who for the past half year has been nothing more than a penpal and stared resolutely at the stove. 

This was ridiculous. 

And yet... sharing a kitchen with Kinley felt every bit as much familiar as it had with Alfie... (Even after she threatened to bite his head off if he made her spill her culinary creation).

Jason chanced another glance over. She was looking back. Blue eyes met briefly with brown, and when she smiled he felt a certain pressure on his ribs. And for the first time, it didn't hurt.

* * *

If he hadn't known she was on-again-off-again friends with Tim as Red Robin, Jason would've found it odd for a civilian to recommend they take their food and eat on the rooftop. Catching a to-go from Batburger and chowing down on top of a gargoyle was par and course for a cape from Gotham. Actually _cooking_ a salmon dinner with sides and dessert and hauling it up to the roof was something else entirely. 

But when they carried everything up and he saw the table and chairs already set up, complete with string lights, then he realized maybe it was a New Yorker thing. He'd noticed it before on his nightly runs through the city, but the multitude of tables and chairs he found on top of buildings hadn't really registered in his mind. 'Rooftop dining' Kinley told them, was as much New York culture as riding the subway. Even in November when they needed light jackets.

_'You could never do this in Gotham,'_ he thought as he set down the pan of salmon fillets. Then he wondered how that might go. He could picture it: running across the rooftops in full gear, probably chasing a rogue, only to stumble into some family's dinner and knocking their pot pie off the table before leaping off the roof with only a 'Sorry!' and a grappling gun. 

Condiment King would probably bombard whatever poor family decided to grill out with ketchup and mustard guns. 

It felt good to talk about home with someone other than Roy, who held an extreme but sensible dislike of Gotham in all its cloudy goodness. Neither of them could understand it, but Kinley actually seemed to _like_ Gotham, despite the chaos and the crime. It was... refreshing, to so speak, and Jason thought only a born and bred Gothamite could feel such loyalty to the city. It was, after all, the most crime ridden city in the world. 

"I like the people," Kinley defended when asked if she actually liked living in the Bowery," They don't give a fuck in all the best ways."

_'Huh,_' Jason thought,'_ Never heard it explained that way.'_ He wondered what exactly she meant.

When it came time for dessert ("Cheesecake," Jason called it, to which Kinley offendedly corrected," Cheese pie.") Roy suggested a game. 

"I don't want a game, I want cheesecake," Jason lamented ("Cheese _pie_!") and made grabby hands towards his plate. With that unerring archer accuracy, Roy swooped in and held it away from the hungry Red Hood, a dangerous prospect. The baker of said dessert watched the proceedings silently, waiting to see which of the dynamic duo would outstubborn the other.

_'Like Roy's any more stubborn than **me**,'_ Jason was confident he would win in this case. Never come between him and food. Rule numero uno when dealing with Jason Todd.

"You'll like this one, I swear!" Roy protested when Jason nearly leapt across the table to grab the plate. It was only by standing up and away from the table that he narrowly avoided Jason's hands. "_And_ you'll still get your food!"

Jason narrowed his eyes, but didn't sit back in his chair yet. Seeing an opportunity to speak but still not surrendering the plate of cheesecake, Roy explained," Ever heard of 'Never Have I Ever'?"

...Okay, maybe this would be fun...

* * *

Just to spite Roy, Jason took a large bite of his cheesecake the instant he got his plate back. It was good, really good, with lemon curd on top and refreshing summer taste despite the late fall season. If it weren't for the game, he might've eaten the whole thing in less than two minutes. 

As it was... "Never Have I Ever..." Roy thought a moment, then said,"... used a fake ID."

Easy. All took bites of their food. "Okay, I know Jason's gone by Peter Benson before and I've used Arthur Lynn, but what about _you_?" Roy pointed his fork at Kinley. 

Kinley chewed slowly on her food, a contemplative look on her face, which_ holy crap, that means she's used multiple ones!_ before answering," Gabriella Peterson." Before either could ask if it was to get alcohol when she was a teenager or something else, she scooped some cheesecake on her fork and gestured at the two of them. "My turn: Never Have I Ever flown a plane."

Jason and Roy ate. Just another Tuesday for the vigilante life. 

The game continued, and it was fun Jason decided, even after their slices of cake were finished. At that point, Kinley ran downstairs and grabbed a bottle of wine she'd gotten at the store earlier. Jason thought he knew things about Kinley before, but boy was he learning some things he never would've thought of. 

Some were tame: "Never Have I Ever cleaned my room by throwing everything in the closet," which of _course_ they've all done.

Jason thought he'd up the ante, just a little bit," Never Have I Ever gotten a tattoo." Roy stuck his tongue out and took a proud bite of his cheesecake. Then Kinley did. ("Show us! Show us the tattoo!" Roy begged, but was disappointed when she said it was on her thigh and it was -in her words- 'too damn cold out to be taking pants off outside'.)

In retaliation, Roy's next bit was 'Never Have I Ever gone skinnydipping." But joke's on him, none of them have so he had to take the bite.

And so the game went and now the kiddie gloves were off, pushing their plates aside and each of them pouring themselves glasses of wine. Well, Jason and Kinley did. Roy poured himself a nice tall glass of fizzy soda and neither of them said a word about it. 

"Never Have I Ever worn heels and a dress and went out dancing." Roy and Kinley proudly drank. "The heels, the _heels_!" Jay cried," How can you guys _walk_ in those things?!"

"Never Have I Ever been to jail." It came as no surprise to anyone when only Jason and Roy have done that one. And no, they were not going to elaborate about Arkham and that 'stupid desert jail' as Roy called it.

"Never Have I Ever sent someone sexy selfie." Kinley and Roy drank to that one and wow... never would've expected that from Pterodactyl.

* * *

Kinley stared down at her glass. The wine was almost gone and she knew the night was probably drawing to a close. The hour was late, dinner was by far finished, and they'd been at this for a while. Her eyes drifted over to Roy, who was complaining about being so full that he was about to explode. Then over to Jason ('_The name suits him...'_ she thought) who was teasing his friend because this was all his idea. 

He seemed content at that moment, filled with good food and sitting on a rooftop with his friends, of whom she hoped she was included. Roy had been right; he was doing so much better than that night she'd met him in that train station. Even before Ex had brought her attention to it, Kinley's heart had ached at the clear pain in the other man. It ached, it literally ached, and just the memory of it had her fingers twitching.

Nothing of that haunted man showed in the boyish face sitting across from her, leaning back in his chair with a contented smile. There had been a flash of _too_ _much, too deep, too fast _in Grand Central Station and when she balanced him out, he'd just looked so surprised that she realized _he didn't know._

"Never Have I Ever..." she spoke quietly and the other two fell silent. Both men looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to finish. Kinley glanced at Roy; so smiley, so full of life and the type of wisdom that said he found joy in the things he could get. Then at Jason; full of all the types of contradiction, a juxtaposition of a man who wanted to do good but too full of feeling to know which path to follow. 

"Never Have I Ever met a Spirit of the Earth."

The mood on the roof shifted instantly to that of confusion and surprise, the two men exchanging baffled expressions. When Jason asked what a Spirit of the Earth was, Kinley chugged the rest of her wine. 

"You can't just ask something like that and not explain." Jason leaned forward until his elbows rested on the table and directed a sharp gaze at her. With those blue-green eyes, it should've been an icy look but it was more akin to a flash of warm tempered steel.

Kinley set down her glass -empty- and folded her hands over her phone sitting on the table. 

"How well do you react to surprises?" she asked. Her fingers tap tap tapped, her eyes watched him intently, and her heart beat steady and calm. 

When he responded," Better than you'd expect," Kinley had to resist the curl of her lips. 

"Then I'd like you to meet Ex." She lifted her hand and a warm green light of smoke and water and music swirled above her palm. Then she told them a tale of the world being built by blocks upon blocks of reality, and how sometimes those blocks turned into Spirits.

* * *

**BONUS: DELETED SCENES**

"Never Have I Ever flirted with a police officer to get out of a ticket." Kinley took her bite of cheesecake and just winked at them, but when Roy did the same, Jason _had_ to know," Who?"

"Your brother," was his cheeky reply. 

"_What_?!"

Laughing, Kinley leaned forward and eagerly asked," But did it work?!"

"That's not the point here!"

To get back at the both of them, and silently vowing to get the story out of Roy later, Jason chose his next one as one he knew they'd both get. "Never Have I Ever given my phone number to a complete stranger." 

Kinley narrowed her eyes at him. "Never Have I Ever had a one night stand," she challenged and crowed in victory when he took a bite of cheesecake. Roy did too, but that wasn't the point here. 

...

"Never Have I Ever gotten spicy in bed," Roy asked, even as he took a swig of soda. 

"What does that even _mean_?" Jason groaned.

Kinley took a drink and Roy cheered," She knows what it means!"

...

"Never Have I Ever had sex with two or more people." Jason and Roy exchanged knowing looks and accepted their drinks. Then Kinley took a drink and their eyes nearly bugged out of their heads. She merely winked at the both of them. 


	52. Meanwhile in NYC pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fluff Rush

Jason was woken up by Roy poking him insistently on the cheek. "Wake up, wake up, wake up," he sang quietly as he entertained himself by seeing how squishy Jason's cheek could be. Hint, not very much. Even less so when he finally woke up and bent Roy's finger back until he was forced to back away. 

Undettered (usually Jason tried to punch if anyone woke him up before he was ready, so Roy considered himself lucky this time around) and shaking the pain away from his hand, Roy tilted his head until he could see Jason's sea-green eyes. "Rise and shine, sleeping beauty," he sing-songed.

Jason groaned and burrowed his head back into the pillow. "I am a night person, _not_ a morning person," he grumbled, not caring that his voice was muffled by the linen," It's a bat thing." Granted, he hasn't really considered himself a Bat in a long while. But old habits die hard, including the staying out all night and sleeping until afternoon. 

To his eternal bitter luck, such reminders did nothing to stop one Roy Harper. "Well you might not be a morning person," he said," But _she_ sure is."

She? She who? It took Jason an embarrassing amount of time to wake up and realize who he was talking about. Right. Pterodactyl was here. Pterodactyl was Kinley. And apparently Pterodactyl was a morning person. "So?" Jason yawned.

"So," Roy looked at him as if he wasn't quite grasping what he was laying down," How have you not smelled the pot of coffee she brewed already? And she's doing yoga on the roof right now."

Huh, so Kinley did yoga._ 'Learn something new every day,_' Jason thought dumbly. He hadn't known yoga was something she did, but then again she _did_ seem to spend an exorbitant amount of time on her own balcony. That would explain part of why she's always out there. "Good for her," he mumbled and closed his eyes again. 

Roy yanked on the hair at the back of his neck. "I don't think you heard me, Jaybird," he hissed," She's doing _yoga_. On the roof."

Again," So?"

Jason whined when his hair was tugged again. "So..." Roy insisted,"... I'm trying to be a good wingman here, you bi bastard. Evidently, you don't know what the fuck _yoga_ is." Somewhere in his sleep-addled mind, Jason registered the words 'wingman', 'bi bastard', and 'yoga' but again it took him an embarrassingly long time to connect the dots. 

He peeked on eye open to glare at his friend. "Are you trying to hook me up with Pterodactyl?" he asked. 

"Been trying for six months now, thanks for finally noticing."

Had he not actually been trying for six months, Roy's words would've thrown Jason for a loop. But at this point, Roy's... _investment_ in Jason's private matters was common knowledge. The best course of action was, as always, to bury his head in the proverbial sand and stay there.

"No," Jason didn't have sand but he did have a pillow handy. 

"You're impossible!"

_'I aim to please,'_ Jason thought smugly. Roy tried one last time to rouse him, his hand diving under the pillow -presumably to pull on Jason's hair some more, the _cheat_\- but soon found his finger wrenched back again. 

"Fine!" Roy threw up his free hand, giving up," Sleep in if you want. But I'm gonna go drink all the coffee, leave none for you, and go watch your hot penpal do yoga on the roof."

Moments after he left the room, Jason muttered angrily. He couldn't get back to sleep. 

_'I hate mornings.'_

* * *

When he walked into the kitchen, a green light sped across the room before the radio clicked on with easy music. It zoomed by Jason's head so quickly that he found himself swatting at the light before he registered the music playing and realized it was Ex. "Now that we know about you, you're going to do that all weekend, aren't you?" he asked, frowning at the radio. 

The digital clock on the front flashed green. 

Jason chuckled and poured himself some coffee. _'A Spirit of Musical Expression...'_ he mused,' _Of all things, she's the caretaker of a tiny supernatural being._' It was funny, in a way, he'd once joked that Pterodactyl could make friends with anyone. Why not a literal personification of musical expression?

As he sipped his coffee, Jason thought on last night. Seeing Pterodactyl for the first time since Gotham, since _that_ night, had been... jarring. And to finally be able to learn her name, to hear her say 'Jason' from her mouth and to look into those dark eyes and know the warmth he saw there was because she genuinely cared about everyone she met. Even the poor sap in the train station covered in building dust and Killer Croc drool. 

The radio made a strange clicking sound, the beginning of a new song. Now that Jason knew it was Ex, he bothered to pay attention and see what it was the little creature had chosen to play now. 

A**nd the heart is hard to translate**  
**It has a language of its own**  
**It talks in tongues and quiet sighs**  
**And prayers and proclamations-**

Somehow, he didn't know exactly _how_, Jason knew this was Ex trying to communicate. He and Roy had quickly figured out it had been _Ex_ who called when Kinley was in trouble, and that while multiple people have tried to teach the Spirit Morse code ("Multiple people? Who all _knows_ about him?") very little of it ever stuck. 

Musical Expression = musical communication _only_. 

**But with all my education**   
**I can't seem to commend it**   
**And the words are all escaping me**   
**And coming back all damaged**

Jason still didn't know what to think of the whole thing. From the way Kinley explained it last night, it sounded like there were dozens if not more Spirits at any one given time. Some of which have even been around since the beginning of time, much like the All Caste or Untitled. 

Considering how long they've been around, surely Ducra knew about them? Why she never taught Jason about them, was another question in and of itself. He reminded himself to ask next time he was at the Acres of All. Knowing his luck, S'aru was probably a Spirit himself. The Spirit of Annoyingness. 

Chuckling to himself, Jason made another mental note to ask Kinley if there was a way to identify Spirits. 

Sufficiently coffee'd up, he made his way up the stairs to the roof. Behind him, the kitchen radio clicked off and a floating ball of green light floated above Jason's shoulder the whole way up. "You gonna do this all weekend, too?" Jason asked, one eyebrow asked. 

Ex hummed the chorus of the song he'd been playing in the kitchen.

_'I hate to admit it, but the little guy's kinda cute.'_

On the rooftop, the first thing Jason noticed was the music playing from the phone on the table, despite Ex still floating somewhere by Jason's right ear. Huh, guess Ex didn't control all of Kinley's music. Then he saw Kinley in a pose that reminded him greatly of Dick Grayson. She was supporting her entire self on the back of her shoulders, feet pointed to the sky and body as straight as a pin. (_Sarvangasana_)

'_Whoa_...' Jason stopped in the doorway, and then his second thought was,' _She better not be putting pressure on that arm!'_ But no, now that he able to look more closely, he saw that only her right arm was supporting her back while the left laid on the ground. A moment later she rolled her body down and into a pose where her feet and shoulders remained planted on the ground, but her- uhh... her _hips_ were lifted in a rather suggestive way that had him biting back a cough. _(Setu bandha sarvangasana)_

"Told you so," Roy's voice was teasing. 

Jason held his cup perhaps a little too tight, but his scowl was wholly justified as he glared at his friend. It went completely unnoticed however, with Roy just sitting at the rooftop table and sipping on his coffee flavored milk abomination. "You're ears are red," Roy sang.

"Fuck you," he whole-heartedly told him. And maybe his ears were red, and as he chugged his hot coffee, Jason was fully intending to blame the hot drink for why his face might be a little warm. 

But then he made the mistake of glancing back over at Kinley and okay, yeah, nope. That looked painful! _'Does that idiot not realize her arm is supposed to be **broken**?'_ he thought before yelling across the rooftop. "You better not be stretching that arm!"

Kinley, who sat in full front splits with her arms raised and back arched so far that her fingertips almost reached her back extended leg, raised her left arm to wave at him. (_Hanumanasana_) The wave was just blasé enough to be slightly condescending. Then he caught sight of her mocking grin as she leaned forward so she was now practically hugging her front extended leg. 

Alright, he had to admit, that didn't look like too much strain on her arm, but still... "Freaky flexy noodle-woman," he grumbled and stole the chair Roy had been using for a foot rest. Pushed his feet off and everything. Pushed them off again too when Roy tried swinging them up onto his lap. 

Roy tried one last time, before that leg was shoved off too. "You're pretty flexible too, Jay," he said and winked conspiratorily when Jason glanced over," Why don't you go join her?"

"You're more than welcome to try your own luck too, Roy," Kinley called over, revealing that she could hear every word they were saying. The men looked over and saw her going through a series of balancing poses called 'The Warrior'. (_Virabhadrasana i, ii, and iii_). At first glance, it didn't look very difficult, but Jason knew better than to doubt the exertion it took. When he was a kid, Bruce had made him do that exact same routine on the balance beam in the Cave. 

Kinley ended with a one legged standing pose (_vriksasana_), focusing with her eyes closed and taking a few deep breaths to cool down. For the brief few seconds she wasn't paying attention to the two of them, Jason's eyes... strayed. With the colder weather fast approaching, it made sense she wore a pair of sweatpants, but did they have to be so... form fitting? One foot, in a bright red sock, rested against the inside of her thigh, drawing his gaze to the triangle formed by the shape of her legs. 

Many people -Roy and Kori included- have commented on Jason's thighs and before now Jason's never really seen the appeal of it. Yeah, he could kick down a door with ease, or squat lift over 400 lbs, but in the end they were just legs. But right here, right now, where he was left staring at Kinley with legs that showed not the slightest strain as she twisted and balanced, he marveled at the flex of muscle he could see underneathe those tight grey pants. Her toes curled where they rested near her knee and he felt an inexplicable desire to see her do those exact same poses in shorts. 

It was a ridiculous want. 

Jason tore his gaze away (very pointedly _not_ looking at Roy's smug face) and took a deep swig of his coffee. "This injured arm thing sucks," Kinley's voice drifted over, closer than before, and he looked up to see her striding over to their little table," I can't do my usual routine." She stretched her right arm across her chest and there was no sleeves to hide the play of muscle beneathe skin and -whoa! Okay, drinking coffee now...

The same time as Roy asking," That was your _easy_ routine?" she strapped on her knee brace and Jason was harshly reminded that Kinley's arm wasn't the only thing injured in the explosion. 

"Should you have even been doing the splits with that knee?" he asked. 

With one last ZIP on the final velcro strip, she shot him a bemused look. "I swear you're just as bad as Red Robin," she said and Roy promptly snorted into his cup," It's just a sprain, _Dad._ The stretches actually help loosen it up." Roy continued to choke on his laughter until she looked at him worriedly. "Is he okay?"

Jason kicked him under the table," No, he's an idiot."

* * *

Jason Peter Todd was stubborn, and oblivious, and despite all his arguments he was a really easy person to like when he wasn't purposefully trying to push people away, and Roy had every intention of beating him over the head with the information every chance he got. He's said it before and he'll say it again. Jason _liked_ Pterodactyl-now-turned-Kinley, and to Roy's eyes she liked him back. 

Even if they bickered as one always does with Jason Todd. 

"You did _not_ just dump ricotta cheese into that batter," he sounded so offended, as if someone just insulted Jane Austen to his face. "First cinnamon and nutmeg, now _ricotta_?" Jason Todd, the Red Hood, scourge of Crime Alley gangs and Russian mobs, stared at Kinley as if she personally took an entire library and burned it to the ground. Obviously her cooking choices were sub par to Jason's own expertise, and he was not above pointing it out. "Are you sure you know how to cook?"

_'It's a mismatch made in heaven,_' Roy thought gleefully as said woman stared challengingly back at Jason. Without a word, she thumbed open the bottle of lemon juice. Then she stared Jason straight in the eye and tipped it over and into the bowl. 

"What kind of pancakes are you _making_?!"

"The kind with actual flavour instead of the bland American version that tastes like flour," she said succinctly and started mixing it all together. 

In a mirror of last night, now it was Jason's turn to point a utensil threateningly at the other chef. "Don't dis the buttermilk pancake," he warned. 

"_Flavourless_," she hissed at him. 

If they ever hung up the vigilante life, Roy sincerely hoped he could convince the two of them to start their own cooking channel. This was pure gold. Roy would happily taste test for the both of them, as long as he got to watch all the tension filled arguments in the kitchen. But until that day comes, he'll have to settle for sitting at the island and pretending to search for activities on his phone while watching the soap opera in front of him. 

Yes, Roy was looking for something for their mismatch group to do today. ("_I don't want her knowing anything about the Red Hood," Jay hissed at him earlier," Pick something a civilian would do."_)

Pssh. Roy thought that sounded boring. Though now he was contemplating signing them up for a couple's cooking class...

"Can you preheat the oven to 350 for me?"

"The oven? No, pancakes are supposed to be made on the stove, in a _pan_."

Wait no... then that would leave Roy the third man out. Do they do cooking classes for couples of three? Thruple's cooking classes?

"I _am_ using a pan. See?"

"Okay, I see your skillet, but raise you one stove. Because why one earth do you need the _oven_?"

If only Kori were here. Then they could be a duo of couples. And for an added bonus, she'd probably knock some sense into Jay. _'Just three more months_,' he reminded himself, thinking longingly of his Tamaranean princess off on a long trip back home to help her sister out with ruling duties. Kori had promised to return in exactly one Earth year and Roy only had three more months to wait. 

"You, uccellino, are about to learn how to make a proper pancake."

"I'm not so sure this is a pancake anymore. I think we're dangerously close to kuchen territory here."

"No, I've made kuchen before. This is nothing like kuchen."

So no, the couple's cooking class would have to wait. What else did normal people do on a day off? The first thing that popped into his head was dinner and a movie but 1: too cliche. 2: they could do that at the AirBNB. And 3: Roy kind of wanted to do something he'd never done before. 

And that didn't leave much for options. 

"You just... stand over there and stir your hash browns and stop doubting my cooking abilities."

"Fine, then I'll stand here -in front of the stove- and block the oven so you can't put your pancake abomination in there."

Hmmm... What does one do when one is in a group of two outlaw vigilantes and one humanitarian heiress interloping as a common born citizen? (Yeah, that's a whole other can of worms he's not getting into right now.)

"Your _face_ is an abomination."

"Admit it, you _like_ this face."

"So modest..."

Ah hah! He's got it! "Mini golf!" he exclaimed. Jason and Kinley froze and stared at him with wide eyes. Jay was the first to recover. "_What_?" he blinked. 

Roy set his phone down and smiled victoriously at the two of them. "Mini golf," he repeated," We're doing mini golf today."

* * *

She stared at them as if they'd just told her- well, as if they'd just said- "Never?" she repeated," Neither of you have ever played mini golf?" 

"Never had the chance," Roy rubbed the back of his neck while Jason shrugged with his hands still in his jacket pockets," I don't think Gotham _has_ any mini golf places." They both knew what the game was, of course, just... never played it before. 

Kinley blinked in amazement and stared into the middle distance, attempting to grasp the realness of the situation she just found herself in. Then with a decisive nod, she turned and looked at the entrance to the Putt Putt Palace in contemplation. "This is gonna be an interesting day," she mused.

* * *

"No, you can't go again, you have to wait your turn," she cried when it looked like Jason was just about to do that. 

"But I haven't made it into the hole yet," he scowled at her. The end of his club was edging closer to the deep purple golf ball just a couple feet away from the hole and Kinley looked like she was about two seconds from using her own club to knock it away. "I think I can make it in just one... more..." He lined the club up with the ball-

"No!" Kinley hooked the end of her golf club around the end of his and pulled it away from him," We go in order, then you get your second hit."

"Well that sounds stupid. What if one of you knock mine off course?" He regretted saying it the instant he said it. 

Kinley pointedly didn't say anything, but Roy's smile was particularly devious as he quickly set down his orange golf ball and took stance. "Roy..." Jason warned lowly," Don't you dar-" He aimed, he swung his club back, and BAM! Roy's orange ball crashed into Jason's and sent it careening onto the far side of Hole #1.

"Damnit, Roy!"

* * *

"Umm... so, well..."

At the booth where they handed out colorful little golf balls and teeny tiny golf clubs, there was a teenager running it for his shift today. Said teen manning the booth looked up from his phone to see the hot chick with the two boyfriends standing in front of the counter. There was a cute, almost sheepish smile on her face while the other two just looked amused. 

In her hand was a bent golf club.

"It bent," was the only explanation she gave. 

_'It... bent?'_ the teen blinked at her. Then at the club. Then at the two men standing behind her. "Hoooooow?" he had to asked. 

The red haired one grinned. "Yeah, Kinley, tell him how."

She may have been hot, but the look she shot the red haired guy promised retribution, and this 17 year old did not want to find out what that might've entailed. Lucky for him, she was all smiles towards him as she turned back and said...

Well, what she said was," I may have swung it a little too hard, and I missed the ball and may have accidentally ended up hitting the ground and... it bent."

Which now, that just sounded absurd. Because well, it's just... "But this is putt putt golf," he gaped at her in sheer amazement because _how hard was she swinging the club?_

And- "And your arm is in a _cast!_" So she had to have been swinging with one hand, right? _Right_?

"A sling, actually," her other man, the big one, quipped. 

She smiled like he hadn't said a word. "There must've already been a crack in it," she said. 

"Yeah... yeah, had to have been..." he agreed because what other explanation could there be?

So he gave her a new club and sent the three of them on their way. The bend club he threw in a corner to show Jamie later. He'd get a kick out of it.

* * *

"If they opened up a mini golf in Gotham, I'd give it about a week before some whackadoo creates a new villain name and takes it over," Jason was saying. His gold club swung idly in his hands as they walked to the next hole. He was actually winning and feeling comfortably content right now. (Roy's aim was terrifyingly precise, but he kept hitting it too hard, and with Kinley swinging with only one arm her aim wasn't worth crap right now)

The thought of a mini golf themed super villain sounded hilarious. Kinley went along with it, offering up a possible villain name," Putt Putt Man?"

Jason shrugged, an interesting motion as he was still slowly spinning the club in lazy circles. "I'm sure even Condiment King would try something," he said," There's so many _themes_ here, ya know? Like you've got a volcano over there..." He helpfully pointed to said fake volcano, spewing out red lights and music. "Some pyromaniac would have fun with that. Or that Sahara Jungle on Hole 9? What the hell is a _Sahara Jungle_?"

It _was_ really stupid -on so many levels- and Kinley had balked at the name on the sign, then at the fake sand and palm trees. "I can only assume they were thinking of an oasis."

"Then _call_ it an oasis, and not that word salad," he despaired and turned the corner, almost running right into Perky the Clown Statue for Hole 14.

"HaHaHaHaHaHaHaHa!" The mechanized clown laughed brokenly with its red speaker mouth and paint chipped eyes that looked too wide and crazy," HaHaHaHa-"

_ **CRUNCH!** _

And then... its head went flying. 

The metal head -decapitated at the neck- bounced once, twice, thrice before rolling to a stop on the green. The rest of the statue stuttered to silence, the only sound that of the crackle of electricity as the exposed wired sparked. 

Jason stood frozen, club still in the air like a baseball bat, and stared at it. "Uh oh," Roy breathed. 

In the end -surprising them both- it was Kinley who took charge of the situation. She did this by planting herself between Jason and the statue, effectively blocking his view of the clown. "Jason, look at me," she ordered and had to repeat it another time before his gaze focused on her and not the thing behind her. 

Kinley felt her heart ache; his eyes had a subtle glow to them. 

"Look at me, focus _only_ on me," her voice was soft, smooth in that way that comforted and didn't demand. 

That green glow wasn't going away, and there was a man in a white polo shirt walking towards them, so she did what she had to. "Just focus..." she whispered and reached out with her hand to press on the center of his chest,"... on me."

Her hand flexed and he took a deep, shuddering breath. Then like a sieve, the glow drained from his eyes and she could see those aqua blues she'd come to love. Jason blinked rapidly, probably not even realizing what just happened and she really hoped he wouldn't ask. But by then, the employee reached them and thank the gods for Roy who quickly intercepted. 

"Yeah yeah, we're leaving," he said amicably and threw an arm around the man's shoulder and steered him away from Jason and Kinley," Real sorry 'bout the damage, but hey, you know over 40% of people don't like clowns, so maybe don't have that thing so close to the pathway?" He continued to chatter the guy's ear off (probably the manager), rather expertly, Kinley noticed. Then she saw his other hand subtly wave her off, a clear _'Get out of here, I've got this.'_

She didn't need to be told twice.

"We'll meet you out front," she announced, pushing gently on Jason's shoulder to direct him towards the exit. He also didn't need to be told and booked it out of there. 

They left the clubs on the ground.

* * *

"So..." Roy whistled lowly as he strolled out of the Putt Putt Palace. Kinley and Jason stood a bit off to the side, waiting and seemingly none worse for wear. Roy eyed his friend and asked," Wanna talk about it?"

"No," Jason was resolute. 

"You decapitated a clown statue with a _golf club_," Roy said plainly, but the hints of a smile were tugging at the corners of his mouth," That almost deserves a reward."

He scowled back at him while Kinley chuckled grimly and added," Hazard of being a Gothamite, I guess."

Roy nodded sagely, just barely fighting the smile. Especially when Jason hissed vehemently," I fucking _hate_ clowns."

...

"So now what do we do?"

"Sushi for lunch?"

"Sushi it is!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The pancake was delicious by the way, and Kinley was ten levels of smug when Jason begrudgingly asked for the recipe.


	53. Meanwhile in NYC pt. 3

_Ba-bump! Ba-bump!_

The sound of... well, there was no mistaking that sound, caught Roy and Jason's attention and they turned to stare with matching expressions. "Is your ringtone the sound of a heart beat?" Roy was the one to ask.

Kinley's phone was in her hand within a second. "Hold on..." she muttered in lieu of an explanation and stepped away. Despite her not telling them anything, the tight line of her mouth told them she was not entirely too pleased to be receiving this call. 

Jason waited until she was just out of sight and around the corner before rising from his own seat. Roy remained the last one at the table, chewing thoughtfully on his tempura as he watched his friend subtly follow after her. 

This probably isn't going to end well...

* * *

It was stupid of him, he knew, to listen in on Kinley's phone call. But Jason was naturally curious ('Once a Bat, always a Bat' and all that jazz) and he didn't like not knowing why Kinley looked upset when she saw her caller ID. She wasn't a criminal mastermind, he knew that (or he hoped, _God_ he hoped) but she was secretive and part of Jason had this sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Just this morning, he'd mentioned -offhandedly, really- that he wondered what her last name was, and she'd looked him dead in the eye and said," No."

And then there was the whole thing where's he's pretty sure she was a child soldier and well... That was one of the many things Jason always felt a little uncomfortable with. 

Kinley headed to the back corner of the restaurant, over by the giant fish tank and a little Japanese fountain where there was only one small table, presumably for those looking for a nice, quiet date. The set up was fortunate for Jason, who could stand on the other side of the aquarium and listen in without being seen.

_Ba-bump! Ba-bump!_ The phone continued to beat like a heart. Kinley sat at the little table with a deep sigh before answering her phone. 

"I'm here," she answered," Are you okay?"

A mere second passed before she asked in a more demanding tone," Is anybody hurt?"

_'Not a good call,_' Jason surmised, because the answer must not have been all that reassuring. "What do you _mean_ Jacob's-" she rushed out, then said in a quieter voice," Start from the top, tell me everything. When was the last time anyone saw him?"

"Can anyone from the family confirm?"

"What leads do we have so far?"

While the other person on the line updated her, Jason sucked in a breath, a picture he wasn't expecting coming together in his mind. 

Kinley made that little humming sound on her next exhale, the one she makes when she's frustrated. Then she ordered," I want you at the front of this, Chris. I'll clear the path so you can use my clearance, but have you brought this up with the Commissioner yet?"

_'Holy shit,_' Jason silently swore,'_ Is she a cop?'_

"Do you think he'll come?" she went on, completely unaware of the epiphany Jason was having five feet away,"... Let's go off the assumption this is one of the nights he doesn't, then what?" The other person on the line said something lengthy that had Kinley listening silently for a minute. 

"Have you checked-"

Her words halted mid-sentence, and though Jason _knew_ she couldn't see him, he held his breath and tried to not make a sound. A second passed, then she started back up. "I'm coming home tomorrow. You'll have my resources for the next 24 hours, _do not waste them._" Then she bid them goodbye, and before Jason could think that might be the end of it, Kinley made another phone call.

Without even greeting whoever she called next, Kinley spoke in cool, clipped tones. "Kinley, MTH-001. Transfer clearance to Christopher, PTR-071. 24 hour access. Log all activity to Tariq, MTH-004."

It was code, that much was clear, and any thought Jason had of her being a simple cop went right out the window. Gotham PD wasn't nearly that sophisticated, even if she was just a transfer in. 

So the question remained: Who was Kinley?

* * *

**Gotham City, NJ**

**"You'll have my resources for the next 24 hours, _do not waste them_,"** Kinley Battaglia didn't give much of a farewell after that, but Christopher hadn't really called her for niceties. After hanging up the phone, reeling from the fact that he's been given _Kinley Battaglia's_ clearance for a day, he stared at it in his hand for a full five seconds. 

When he'd called, that was the last thing he'd been expecting. What Chris had been hoping for was an explanation, a reason for Jacob's disappearance; he was on assignment, he'd gotten called away on short notice outside the city, he'd recieved an envelope just the same as Chris did and a side effect was he had to disappear for a couple days.

Something. Anything. Just not the conclusion that the other Acies' were adamant was the truth. (_"Jacob's an Acies," Maggie said, offended when Chris suggested it's possible he was called away without explanation," He wouldn't go off on his own without letting as least one of us know."_) Then he remembered a necklace with an M, a blown up clinic, a B carved onto Jonathon's chest, a call with no explanations and an indirect order to do 'whatever it takes' to find Jacob. 

_'How long until we get a repeat of New York?'_ he sighed. 

"So what'd she say?" Maggie Acies's question brought him out of his inner turmoil. Chris looked up from his phone and saw five Acies faces staring at him expectantly. He took a deep breath. 

But before he could tell them how the call went, each and every single one of them got an alert on their phones. A very distinct alert, the sound of metal clashing on metal and they couldn't get their phones out fast enough. Maggie's gaze flickered between her phone and his face, her face dissolving in to one of surprise. "She transferred clearance to you for a day," she breathed. 

None of them asked why. They each understood the implications. 

Christopher Peterson nodded grimly. "We're going to find him."

* * *

**New York City**

Even though she'd clearly hung up the phone, Kinley made no move to return to their table. Instead she sat at that empty, unused table for a moment more, just sitting. Then- "Whatever you're thinking," she suddenly spoke," Please don't think worse of me for it." 

_'How-?'_ Scratch that, nevermind how she knew he was there. Jason hadn't exactly pulled out all the stops when eavesdropping, but still. Regardless of how she knew he was there, Jason wondered why she thought he'd think less of her. With a frown, he stepped around the aquarium and saw her sitting with a forlorn look on her face. Her phone sat on the table, pulsing steadily with a green light. 

Kinley wouldn't look at him and just stared the blinking green light, even as Jason took the other chair. In that brief moment of time, he took the chance to look at her -_really_ look at her- and he tried to merge it with the image of Pterodactyl that he knew. She looked... well tired wasn't the word he wanted to use, but... something else. There was an emptiness in her gaze, as intent as it was, as if she couldn't really see the table and phone. As if she was seeing something else entirely. 

_("Same as you," Roy once said, after they fought on the phone and Roy had to take it away just so he could calm Ptero down enough to tell him what was **wrong**," PTSD.")_

_("Were you a child soldier?" he once asked, when the not knowing tore at him too much. Only to be told," I was never forced to fight, if that's what you're asking.")_

_("Rule Number Three: You won't always be there.")_

Jason ducked his head so he could try and see those brown eyes for himself. So they could focus on him and not Ex flashing steadily away in her phone and maybe lose some of that haunted look. The corner of his mouth quirked (up or down, he didn't know yet) when her dark gaze met his straight on. Then something in her face changed, the tenseness slid away and her expression became blank and slack. 

He's seen Tim do the exact same thing enough times to know she was putting on her game face. He didn't like it anymore than when Tim did it. 

"Tell me your name," he asked quietly. Originally he wanted to ask her so many questions, ask who she was or what happened or why she _really_ moved to Gotham. He wanted to know what was going on back home, and if she was really a cop or- or something else. But when he opened his mouth, 'Tell me your name,' is what popped out. 

Kinley blinked, the request -no, the _demand_\- coming as unexpected to her as it did himself. But she recovered herself quickly," My name doesn't matter." 

Jason rested his elbows on the table and argued," I think it does."

"Fine," she said tartly," It's Peterson." 

_'Like it's that easy,'_ he almost laughed. With a narrowed gaze and a thin-lined mouth, he leaned forward and said," Funny. Because you've used a fake ID in the past for a 'Gabriella Peterson'. First rule of fake ID's: don't use your real last name."

"So try again," Jason spoke lowly," Tell me your name, Kinley."

Her face tightened; her brows pinched and her stare became a glare. "It. Doesn't. Matter," she repeated. 

"I think it does."

"Fine. You want to know who I am?" she finally said through gritted teeth," Then turnabout's fair play. You tell me what happened that night you left Gotham."

The phone flashed between them and to Jason it seemed a little brighter than usual. But he ignored Ex; now was not the time. "You already know what happened that night," he bit out," My brother was an asshole and accused me of doing something I didn't. I didn't want to end up in Arkham, so I left."

Yet Kinley pressed on. "And when we met, I gave you choice. I can give advice, get involved, or just listen." He remembered. She'd given him that option more times than he can count, and always he chose 'just listen'. "But in order for you to know my name, I have to get involved," she continued," Your brother chased you out of your home. If you want my name, you give me _his_."

Jason fell silent. 

While he would've _loved_ to see Kinley go full mama-bear on Dick, turn that glare of hers onto the golden boy, she had him backed into a corner here. He could give her Dick's name, tell her it was Dick Grayson, but she already knew he was Jason's brother. If he told her his brother was the Dick Grayson, then she'd know _he_ was Jason Todd. She'd know the dead son of Bruce Wayne was alive and kicking.

But if he told her it was Nightwing, then well... he'd just as well be admitting he was Nightwing's brother and then it was a slippery slope til she found out he was Red Hood. 

Kinley played this well. For every inch she gave, she demanded an inch in return. A tango, and right now he wasn't sure if he was leading or if she was. 

"I can always find out anyways," he challenged," Roy found it without even trying. Imagine if I _did_."

Kinley's stare did not waiver. The cool confidence he saw there replaced whatever emptiness had been there before, a look that told him she was already five steps ahead of him. She didn't say anything. Just raised one eyebrow as if daring him to try. "Roy got lucky," was all she said. 

But she was forgetting one thing. "Or I could take the easy way and just ask Roy."

There was a sudden pang on the left side of his chest, a feeling like a cramp but psychologically. From out of nowhere, Jason felt an inexplicable wave of anger and hurt, emotions he was quite familiar with but... But if this was Pit Rage (and if it was, then that was a whole other set of problems he would deal with Later) then why did he feel _guilt_?

Across the table, Kinley's face drew up blank, not a hint to her thoughts showing. With all the ease of a mob boss conducting business, she leaned forward and stared him down. Despite the sharp pain in his ribs, Jason met her stare head on. He was the fucking Red Hood; he's faced down cartel and assassins, looked death in the eye and laughed. He would not be cowed by-

"You do that," she spoke simply, succinctly," and you will never hear or see me again. And the last thing I do before I disappear will be to tell Red Robin exactly where and how to find you."

_'And that, ladies and gentlemen...'_ Jason thought as she stood up and walked away after dropping that bomb,_' ...is why I don't do relationships.'_

* * *

Roy knew the phone call -and whatever conversation came after it- went sour the instant Kinley stalked past the table without taking her seat. With hardly a glance at him, she flung a fifty dollar on the table without an pause in her stride. A moment later, Jason came barreling after her with a dark look on his face that Roy's seen a hundred times. 

He was pissed.

_'Here we go again,'_ Roy sighed and added another fifty onto the bill Kinley laid down before standing up. He stared wistfully at the food he still hadn't eaten before deciding fuck it, he wanted to finish his lunch. "Can I get a couple boxes?" he asked a nearby waitress the same time Jason's shout echoed from the vicinity of the restaurant's entrance.

"That was a dick thing to say and you _know_ it!"

Whatever Kinley's response was lost as she'd already exited the restaurant by that point. Those two might not have cared, but the dozen of eyes that landed on Roy felt like a thousand judging stares. "Lover's quarrel, what can you do?" he grinned toothily at the table next to him, a large family of five, with his hands raised in a 'oh well' shrug. 

The mother discreetly coughed and busied herself by taking a drink of her wine while the youngest child couldn't help but blurt out," What's a 'lover's quarrel?"

And there was Roy's cue to skedaddle out of there. Leaving the parent's to explain to their five year old what a lover's quarrel was, he scooped up the boxes of food (this restaurant boxed their leftovers for them? Awesome!) and hurried out. 

By the time he got outside, Jason and Kinley were yelling at each other on the sidewalk. Whatever Kinley had told him before storming out of there had really riled Jason up. "-your tactic whenever you don't get your way?" he was saying -yelling, more like- with his face all red and fists clenched," You don't get to just _do_ that to your friends, Ptero!" 

Ooh, he _was_ mad if he was forgetting to use Kinley's name and reverting back to the one he's called her for months. 

"I can and I have," she responded coolly. 

Jason _snapped_.

"So you do this _all_ the time?!" he roared," That's so much _worse_! How many people have you done that to? You had that line ready and rehearsed- don't think I didn't notice; this isn't the first time you've pulled some shit like that, isn't it?"

Roy contemplated stepping inbetween them, diffusing the situation again. But this wasn't like last month. This wasn't just a case of misunderstanding on the phone and something he could fix by sending them both to their proverbial corners. 

Standing at the curb, Kinley was an interesting mix of calmness and fury. Even with one hand raised in the air to hail a taxi, even with her face the picture of absolute quiet, she was anything but. Jason may have been focused on her face, seeing the way her expression was blank as stone, but Roy was an archer. He watched the _hands_. He watched how she didn't clench her fists, purposefully kept her raised hand loose and relaxed. He watched how her other hand hung at her side, not fisted like Jason's, but her fingertips still turned red. He watched how she dug her thumbnail into the side of her index finger, dug in and _gauged_ to the tip of her finger until blood dripped. 

Then she discreetly wiped it on her jeans before doing it again. 

"You would not accept the answer I gave you, so I gave you an ultimatum," her voice was aloof, entirely at odds with how upset she obviously was. 

"That's not an ultimatum, that's _emotional manipulation!_" Jason screamed.

"Jay..." Roy said quietly, never taking his eyes off Kinley's hand that she now angled on her far side, away from Jason's line of view. She'd moved on from her index finger to the middle, a long red line of blood all down the side. 

"Is that what you do?!" there was no stopping Jason now, yelling at her and not caring about the people giving them a wide berth on the sidewalk. "You get people to trust you, to call you friend and think here's someone that might actually give a damn? Then when they don't do what you like, you threaten to take that all away from them?"

"_Jay_..." Roy tried a little more forcefully. 

Jason didn't hear him," How many people have you manipulated like that, huh? How many of them decided they didn't need that crap and told you to fuck off?" 

At that moment, a yellow cab finally pulled up to the curb and Kinley couldn't get the door open fast enough. But what Jason screamed next made her freeze. 

"Is that what happened to everyone else before me?!"

With one hand on the top of the cab and looking one second away from disappearing into the backseat, the look of pain on Kinley's face was the realest emotion they've seen out of her today. She was frozen, half in and half out the cab, and looking like Jason had shot her with lead just as much as he had words. 

Then she spoke," Everything I do, I do to protect you." Her voice was not low, nor pitched. It was firm, meant to be heard and to get her point across. "One day, you're going to _wake up_ and understand, but until then just trust that I know what I'm doing."

"I have to go take care of something, I'll text you when I can," she told them in lieu of an explanation and while Roy had no clue what that something might've been, he suspected Jason might have an inkling. 

For no sooner had she ducked down into the taxi, prepared to pull the door shut behind her, Jay was stomping over there and holding it open with one hand. "Screw that," he grunted and with the fluidity commonplace in a Bat but unexpected for a man of his size, slid into the backseat next to her. 

"I'm coming with," he declared with intent and slammed the door shut behind him. 

Kinley was left staring at him in something akin to shock and disbelief, her mouth popped open in a silent gasp. Not one to be outdone, Roy quickly circled to the other side of the taxi. Kinley looked like she wasn't about to let him in, torn between shoving both him and Jason out, but the taxi driver was yelling at them to "get in and close tha door before some asshat hits it with 'is car!" and Roy was no pushover as he literally shoved Kinely into the small space between him and Jason. 

Huh, usually when they did this it was a precursor to an interrogation with a gang leader. Never thought they'd be using the technique on Pterodactyl...

When the driver asked where they were going, Kinley remained stubbornly quiet, silently glaring at Jason. "Just drive for now, we'll tell you when we know the address," Jason told the driver instead. He didn't look at him when he said it, instead glaring right back at Kinley with his blue eyes flashing in anger and emotion. With the two of them so focused on each other, neither noticed when Roy glanced down and saw Kinley tug her coat sleeve over her bloody hand. 

"You wanna play games? Fine," Jason bit out," I won't ask Roy..." 

Okay, now Roy wanted to know exactly what started the fight in the first place and how the hell did _he_ get involved? 

"...but that's not gonna stop me. And if you leave, then _fine_, at least it won't be anything new. I'm used to it by now. And if you wanna sic Red Robin after me, then _go ahead_. You're not the only one who can disappear. If I don't want him to find me, he _won't._"

Roy _really_ wished he knew what happened in the restaurant...

Jason leaned in, his intimidation factor somewhat depleted by the fact that Kinley was of the same height as him but was no less sincere as he growled out," So. I'm. Coming. With."

They glared at each other a moment more, a tense cone of silence that fell over the cab. The driver wisely didn't comment or say anything but Roy could see his gaze flicker back to them often enough through the rearview mirror. Kinley and Jason paid neither of them any mind, locked in a stalemate of will and sheer stubbornness. It was intense. It was the definition of an unstoppable force (Jason) meeting an immovable object (Kinley).

Until finally-

"Take us to Lux Petram College," Kinley spoke. Not to Jason. No, to the driver. With one last frustrated unhappy noise low in her throat, she turned away from Jason and leaned back in her seat. Her eyes stared straight ahead out the front window. 

Only Roy dared ask," What's at Lux Petram?"

"I've got work to do."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0 to 100 real fucking quick


	54. I Am

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes getting things done means facing the things you don't want to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW FRUSTRATINGLY DIFFICULT IT WAS TO WRITE THIS CHAPTER?

**Lux Petram College, NYC**

**July 30th, 2015**

_ "Dimitri! _"

The name slipped out of her mouth even as she ran. All the fire, all the chaos around her, and her focus narrowed down only to the sight of her brother's boyfriend laying in a heap among the rubble. She'd seen the pipe connect with his face, saw the blood run in rivulets down his neck, saw him crash into a burning pillar that was seconds from collapsing. She barely even thought. Just saw that column of wood and fire lean over his prone form and she ran. Didn't even think twice as she threw herself over him, barely flinching as it hit her instead.

Kinley was no stranger to pain. She was no stranger to fire, blades, and blood. However, the thokcha dagger burned cold -_ 'cold, cold, _ _ **cold!** _ _ ' _\- as it slid between her ribs and the hilt settled against her spine. A pain unlike any other exploded in her nerves and a scream was ripped from her throat in a sound not completely human.

How did she get here, you ask? Simple: the answer would be Stephen Palamaras. Her Eastern European History classmate and a man who was willing to burn down a school just to draw out the Battaglias.

The building was burning burning _ burning _ , with the flames reaching higher and higher up the walls until the fire licked the ceiling. Red and orange surrounded them on all sides and thinking back on it, one could understand how Dimitri likened it to the inside of a fire tornado. But even with the heat all around them, Kinley only felt _ cold _ . _ 'Thokcha,' _ her mind stuttered out. No other metal could burn her as cold. No other metal could feel as foreign, as _ otherworldly _ as that of which came from space.

So cold it burned that she barely took note of the weight of all full grown man at her back, Stephen's hands pushing the blade ever deeper. The dagger twisted, _ grinding _ against her bones, and she screamed.

Fucking thokcha and fucking Stephen.

"Your soul is _ mine _," he hissed in her ear. Gloating, victorious.

The magic in the blade more than the sharpness itself hooked into her very being, tendrils of ancient magicks wrapping around her spirit. To Kinley, in between the burning of the dagger and the freezing of the thokcha, it felt like vines twisting around and around until it felt like it pulled on her from the inside out. Like it couldn't be pulled out without taking her with it.

She tried anyways. Cried with the pain and jerked her shoulders; tried to throw him off, but he twisted it again and she screamed.

"Kinley?" Dimitri's voice was quiet and cracked and _ scared _.

She opened her eyes and saw his frightened face; his confused, frightened face. There was a faint blue light reflecting in his eyes and while he didn't say anything more, Kinley knew what it was he was seeing.

He was hurt, confused, and scared, and Kinley owed it to him and her brother to get him out of there alive. Even if...

Up and back was no option, not with Stephen pinning her down with that dagger. The building was coming down around their ears anyways, with the entrance blocked by the pillar she had just deflected. That left only one direction.

Shuffling her stance, Kinley curled one hand into a tight fist. "I'm sorry," her voice cracked and she saw the blue glow brighter in the reflection of Dimitri's eyes. Then she jerked her arm back, heard the CRACK! of her elbow against Stephen's face, and in the return motion _ punched _ the floor as hard as she could.

Three more hits and the ground fell out beneathe them. At the same time, she felt the thokcha blade being torn out of her back.

Her spirit went with it.

* * *

**Lux Petram College, NYC**

**Present time November 7th, 2020**

Classes were in full swing when a checkered cab pulled up to the gate entrance. At first it just sat there idling. Then after a minute, in which the passengers spent arguing until the driver yelled at them to get out, the back doors opened simultaneously. Angry violin music poured out from inside, blaring loudly.

The cab driver could be heard swearing at the radio, and bashing at the buttons in an effort to turn it off. The dark haired man that stepped out of the backseat shot a dark, warning to the woman who stepped out after him. The glare she aimed back at him was just as dark and warning.

Inside the taxi, the music grew in volume and intensity.

Kinley slammed the door shut -coincidentally, the radio turned off inside- without taking her eyes off Jason's frowning face. With a smoothness that reminded him deeply of Catwoman, Kinley rolled her shoulders before shoving her hands deep into her coat pockets. A flash of green light slipped out of the closed taxi door before disappearing into her pocket.

"So now what?" Jason asked.

"Now..." Kinley about-faced and started walking towards the gate," You get back in that taxi and I'll meet you guys back at the apartment later."

It was the same argument they've been having the entire ride over, and Roy rolled his eyes and mouthed along as Jason yelled," Like hell that's happening!" He hadn't noticed Kinley's bloody hand yet -in impressive feat to be sure- and Roy wasn't sure if he was going to tell Jason yet. Or wait until he saw for himself.

_ 'And today was going so well, too,' _ he lamented and followed after the duo. Kinley walked like she was on a mission while Jason stubbornly kept stride, his anger still palpable despite the two refusing to say another word to each other. Roy? Well, he followed at a sedate pace, calmly snacking out of his to-go box as he went.

On the way here, Kinley told them the bare minimum -and he means _ the bare minimum _\- about why she needed to go to Lux Petram. When pressed about their argument in the restaurant, she clammed up tighter than Batman when asked to share his feelings. That was okay though, Jason was more than loud enough in telling Roy the details of how she got a mysterious phone call from Gotham and how she immediately turned to emotional manipulation when he asked her about it.

(Kinley hadn't said a word the entire tirade. Roy didn't mention it and he doubts Jason saw it, but her eyes looked almost... hollow as she stared out the windshield and waited for them to arrive at the college.)

Roy himself was just confused. He'd already figured out her name was Kinley Battaglia and she was a big part of a humanitarian organization. Being the daughter of its CEO was kind of a dead give away, but did it really warrant such insistence on keeping it secret? But then again...

Maybe he wasn't curious enough. Maybe he didn't look far enough when researching Kinley Battaglia. Maybe he missed something when he looked up Omnia Nos.

Sooner rather than later they end up at the Student Administration building. Not the first place they were expecting, but hey, Kinley was full of surprises today. Especially when she knocked on a certain door and the man who opened it up took one look at her and blanched.

"Muh-Miss Kinley!" the middle aged man stuttered out in shock," What a surprise!" He recovered quickly enough and held the door open for her," This is the last place I would've expected to see you."

"What? Don't think she's the college type?" Roy joked. It may have been subtle, but they entered the office just quick enough that the man didn't have time to shut the door on them. Kinley had already taken the guest seat by the desk, still intent on ignoring both him and Jason. Not that it did her much good anyways; Jason took the seat next to her, making good on his word that he was gonna stick to her like glue until he figured it out.

The man, Calvin Peterson as evidenced by his desk plaque, took his own seat on the other side of his desk. "On the contrary, Kinley here was a student here at Lux Petram," he told them," I'm surprised because I was under the impression that she never meant to come back."

At that, Kinley transitioned smoothly into," Not unless I had good reason, Cal," which went along nicely with avoiding Jason's pointed glare.

Calvin nodded curtly, as if recognizing that she was here on business and not just for a social visit. "Right, well, what can I help you with, Miss Kinley?"

_ 'Miss Kinley,' _ Jason hummed to himself, _ ' I thought only Alfred spoke like that.' _ With all that he knew -and didn't know- he wondered if it was a Calvin thing... or a Kinley thing.

Speaking of which, with the exact same air of cool apathy she had when in the restaurant, Kinley settled her hands in her lap, tucked into her coat sleeves and said," I want Jonathon's records."

_ 'Jonathon? Jonathon who?' _ The only Jon he knew was Superman's brat, but Jason highly doubted that's who she was talking about.

Across the desk, Calvin frowned deeply. "Does this have anything to do with that alert today?" he asked.

While Kinley just nodded in agreement, Jason's mind was racing to connect the dots. _ 'Wait, there was an alert sent out?' _ he thought, _ ' Is he referring to that weird code Kinley spoke earlier?' _ The entire way over, he'd been going over and over what she said on the phone. There were three names, three codes. Herself, Christopher (who must've been the one she spoke with on the phone) and Tariq. She'd transfer what sounded like her security clearance to Christopher temporarily and Tariq would be the one to have the activity log.

And those codes... MTH-001, PTR-071, and MTH-004. There's a connection between the MTH codes, herself and Tariq, but what does MTH stand for?

Calvin Peterson typed something up on his work computer and Jason was honestly surprised he was so willing to just hand over whatever records to Kinley. If she never meant to come here, then why have access to the records at all?

_ 'Security clearance,' _ whispered in his mind.

"Anything in particular you're looking for?" Calvin asked.

Kinley was all business as she told him," Anything dating from April of this year."

_ Taptaptaptaptap _. "He dropped out halfway through the spring semester, about a week or so into April," Calvin replied. His eyes flicked back and forth as he sped read," A formal letter was submitted on April 17th, stating that he was dropping out to support a friend in a different state."

Kinley let out a long breath and closed her eyes. She looked almost pained when she asked," Did he say which friend or state?"

"Why do you ask that like you already know the answer?" Jason questioned, one eyebrow going up.

Which, well, because she kind of already did. "He said Gotham, didn't he?" she reiterated her question to Calvin, who nodded sheepishly.

"He said he was looking forward to the storms there."

_ No one _ looks forward to the storms, especially the kind in Gotham. Actually, no one looks forward to moving to Gotham, period. Except for Kinley here, who wasn't ordinary in the slightest anyways. So that line more than anything set off red flags in Jason's mind.

"So..." he leaned back in his chair and shot an expectant look at Kinley," You gonna tell me what all the cloak and dagger is about?"

Calvin, bless his heart, looked genuinely confused as he looked back and forth between the three of them. "Cloak and dagger?" he blinked owlishly," I'm sorry, Miss Kinley, but aren't these two with you?"

"He's..." Kinley closed her eyes in an expression of pained exasperation that Jason was only all too familiar with,"... complicated."

He's _ complicated _. "Hah!" Jason guffawed," If I ever write an autobiography, remind me to use that as a title."

“He’s also being a pain in my ass right now,” she amended. Jason grinned like it was his personal delight to be a pain in the ass. Which, as Roy could testify, was very much true.

Calvin looked between the three of them, a look of utter confusion on his face as he glanced first at Jason, then Kinley, then Roy, then back down the line. As if he were waiting for one of them to say,” Just messing with ya!” When no admittance came forth, he hesitantly asked,” Shall I... send the files to Tariq?”

There was that name again. Tariq. Jason sat up in his chair, noticeably more interested in where this was going. That was twice now he’s heard that name in reference to data being sent. He sort of recognized the name; Arabic in origin, though he couldn’t tell which region. So the question remained: was Tariq a person, or a place? A private location in which she had all confidential information sent for later review?

And why the fuck would Kinley need something like that?

The side look Kinley shot his way showed she knew him too well. The sly smile on her face said he’d never figure it out. _‘Challenge accepted,’_ he thought and hoped the way he stared back at her showed just how he was willing to rise to the challenge. “To Tariq,” she told Calvin, though she never took her eyes off Jason.

* * *

They left Calvin’s office soon after that. It was clear none of them left satisfied; Kinley unhappy with what she heard and Jason frustrated that she let nothing else slip. Roy was just unhappy that these two idiots refused to _communicate__. _And Kinley... Alright, he had to admit this was more than just Omnia Nos. This _had_ to be something else, something bigger, or else she wouldn’t be so defensive about it.

Omnia Nos was a _good_ thing. An organization with an emphasis on humanitarian work and not something one would want to hide. Whatever Kinley was doing here was way out of left field. All codes and investigative work, refusing to tell them anything even as she low-keyed interrogated a university official. It sounded an awful lot like detective work, only Roy knew for a fact that Kinley was not a cop. (At least he thinks so.)

This felt uncomfortably a lot like vigilante work.

Which _ yay _, then Jason wouldn’t have to freak out so much and could openly tell her about their own Outlaw shenanigans. But if Roy was wrong and Kinley wasn’t some caped crusader, and if they spilled the secret, then that would be a whole other shitstorm. Wondering if he was missing something, Roy pulled out his phone and started doing some research of his own.

Up ahead, Jason and Kinley walked side by side as she led them to another part of the campus. For the most part, neither said a word but were very much aware of the other’s presence. “I just want to know why...” Jason muttered. He stared straight ahead as he spoke; the anger had faded from his face and replaced with a quiet despondence. Beside him, she didn’t say anything but he knew she was listening. “Why won’t you tell me?” he asked in a low voice,” Haven’t I proven myself by now?”

The way she bit the inside of her cheek, the way her lips pursed in thought and the corners of her eyes pinched shouldn’t draw his gaze as much as it did, but they did. The way she frowned shouldn’t entrance him the way it did, not when he preferred the way she smiled. He should not think the way she showed tiny expressions of emotion to be endearing, not when she’s been so obstinate the last hour. But it did.

“What do you mean?” she asked,” You have nothing to prove to me.”

No, he supposed he doesn’t. But he _wanted_ to. “I am not Dimitri.”

His words took her by surprise, staring at him with those wide, brown eyes. Jason continued,” I am not Red Robin, I am not any of those people who’ve left you high and dry when things got tough. I think I’ve proven by now that I’m not likely to run off.”

He shrugged,” Well, okay, so I’m still gonna be off traveling and doing business, but I’m not going to _hate_ you because of some bullshit reason. I don’t _care_ if you think it’s something bad or whatever because I can guarantee you it’s nothing worse than what I’ve done. So if you think I’m going to hate you because you’re a... a mob boss or something, then I’ve got some _words_ for you, chica.”

A small huff escaped Kinley’s lips. A self-deprecating laugh as she mumbled,” At least you didn’t say cult,” and rubbed her cheek against her shoulder. “Not a mob boss,” she said louder,” The opposite actually...”

At his raised brow, she took a deep, measured breath. Then she opened her mouth-

-and then didn’t say anything. Which, rude. Jason kind of wanted an explanation. But then he noticed how her eyes were wide and focused on something behind him. Confused and a tiny bit alarmed, he spun on the balls of his feet, ready to deal with whatever put that look on her face. But there was nothing there, nothing out of the ordinary. Just a college campus with a bunch of students milling around them.

“Che cazzo...” Kinley breathed with an air of bafflement and brushed past him. As she went, she kept up a steady litany of Italian, sounding more and more agitated. “Cosa sto vedendo? Questo non può essere vero...”

With equally baffled expressions, Jason and Roy exchanged glances and trailed after her as she made her way across the campus. “Umm, Kinley?” Jason called after her. She didn’t even hear him.

Eventually she stopped in front of a monument at the steps leading to a teaching hall. “Ucciderò qualcuno per questo,” she swore at the statue. It was just your average, generic statue, a man standing on a slab of stone in what passes for a majestic pose. Probably one of the school’s founders or something. The name engraved on the base was pretentious enough.

‘**Stephen Palamaras’**

Kinley made a strangling motion at it. “Che cazzo è questo?!” she screeched. There were a few more angry gestures at the statue, glancing back at the two of them with a shocked and enraged expression as if looking for validation that they were angry as she was. Neither of them had any clue what was going on. “I just...” she waved frantically at the monument,” Can you- _stai scherzando?!”_

“Whoa, hey,” Jason’s hands reached out, trying to catch her shoulders and force her to face him, to make her _explain_, but Kinley danced out of his reach. She circled the monument base like a vulture circling its next meal until she came upon a memorial plaque. “** ‘In honor of Stephen Palamaras, who gave his life to save others in the fire of 2015’**?” she read, growing increasingly angrier.

“What?!” she screamed,” Come ha fatto questo bastardo a ottenare una statua quando e stato lui a causare l'incendio? Mi ha pugnalato alle spalle! Ho ancora la cicatrice!”

Jason understood maybe about 20% of that rant, his Italian non-existent and only a few of the words similar enough to Spanish for him to understand. He did catch the words ‘how’ ‘bastard’ ‘statue’ ‘when’ ‘and ‘scar’. Which, honestly, _what?_

She was _pissed off_ and more animated than she’d been when arguing with him in the restaurant. Which was frustrating on so many levels because he’d been pressing for a reaction, for her to yell back, to match his fury toe to toe. Yet now here she was yelling and getting angry at an inanimate object when he couldn’t even get her to communicate with _him_! It was maddening!

Kinley had been holding herself back but now she looked two seconds away from tearing the statue down with her bare hands. Hands that she had out of her pockets.

“Ptero!”

This was entertaining. This was great. This was better than Jason’s telenovelas. Roy wished he had more sushi to snack on as he watched Jason seize Kinley’s wrist and hold it up so the gouges on her fingers were visible. “First off: what the hell is this?” he demanded,” Second: What the hell is _ that _?” waving at the statue of Stephen.

There was a brief moment where she just stared defiantly at him, going stubbornly silent as she tried yanking her arm away. Then she just looked surprised when his grip remained tight on her arm. Instead it only served to piss Jason off even more. “Answer. The. Question,” he said lowly.

“I don’t have to-”

“Just tell me what the hell is going on, Kinley!” Jason roared, causing a few heads to turn their way.

“HE WAS MY FRIEND!” she screamed back in his face,” He was my _friend_ and he stabbed me in the back and burned a motherfucking building down because _he wanted to be the one to take down the great Kinley Fucking Battaglia!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Che cazzo: (Italian) What the fuck
> 
> Cosa sto vedendo: (Italian) What am I seeing?
> 
> Questo non può essere vero: (Italian) This can’t be real.
> 
> Ucciderò qualcuno per questo: (Italian) I will kill someone for this.
> 
> Che cazzo è questo” (Italian) What the fuck is this?
> 
> Stai scherzando: (Italian) Are you kidding me?
> 
> Come ha fatto questo bastardo a ottenare una statua quando e stato lui a causare l'incendio: (Italian) How did this bastard get a statue when he’s the one who set the fire?
> 
> Mi ha pugnalato alle spalle: (Italian) He stabbed me in the back.
> 
> Ho ancora la cicatrice: (Italian) I still have the scar


	55. He was

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim makes a discovery, Damian doesn't. Jason takes a ride through Pit-Town and Roy is so Over It.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I live motherfucker! Even if my work load is trying it's damn hardest to make that otherwise.
> 
> Songs by Ex, your friendly neighborhood music Spirit:  
‘Enemy’ by Tommee Profitt (ft. Beacon Light and Sam Tinnesz)

**Gotham City, NJ**

**November 7th, 2020**

It was the first time in two weeks the apartment was dark when he pried the window open. It gave Tim hope that Dimitri was perhaps getting back to his usual habits instead of having every light and radio on. "This is gonna be a quick visit," he announced as his feet touched down under the windowsill. Even if the apartment wasn’t lit, that didn't mean Dimitri wasn't somewhere sitting in the dark (or in his dark room developing some film).

"I wanted to ask you something but the scanner's going off the fritz tonight," Tim spoke out loud, wandering into the kitchen in search of Dimitri," Something about a missing-"

Then he spotted the envelope sitting on the table.

" 'Most Esteemed Dimitri Shukis'?" he read outloud.

It was propped up against the candle Dimitri liked to keep there, situated perfectly so that it would be the first thing you’d see walking into the kitchen. Without touching it, Tim leaned over to better inspect the envelope and the neat calligraphy penned on the outside. A heavy, parchment type of paper, like the kind used in formal invitations to the galas Tim would have to go to for W.E. There was no return address which told him this was hand delivered.

The question was: who would go to such lengths to stage this letter in Dimitri’s kitchen?

It was too odd, too clandestine, too much like _Ra’s_, for Tim to leave it alone. “Dimitri?” he called out again, looking around as if expecting the man to jump out from behind a door,” Are you sure you’re not here?”

No answer came forth.

‘_It’s almost midnight, he should be home by now,’_ he thought grimly. Casting furtive glances at the letter, Tim pulled out his phone and sent off a quick text to the phone he gave Dimitri.

“_Your apartment’s been compromised. Don’t go home yet. Call me when you get this.”_

That would have to do for now, until he could hunt the man down later. For now, Tim grimaced and reached for the letter, _‘__L__et’s see what surprise someone left for Dimitri.’_

* * *

Robbinsville was quiet on a Saturday night. They weren’t quite at the residential section and the shops around here closed no later than 10pm. There were a lot of trees and not a single building was over five stories high. _‘Suburbs,’_ Damian scowled upon stepping out of the Batmobile and being promptly face to face with a ‘Welcome to Robbinsville! Merry Christmas!’ sign. One of a thousand hanging off every lightpost.

‘_It. Is. Still. November,’_ he thought viciously. Why was there so much Christmas stuff already?!

Other than the multitude of holiday decorations, the area was completely ordinary. If Damian didn’t know this was the site of Acies’ kidnapping, he would’ve expected it to be any other street intersection. Not even any skid marks on the street. “Robin, canvass the area,” Father told him,” Radio if you find anything.”

Damian nodded,” And you?”

Bruce was looking over at the stores along the street,” I’ve got an idea.” Ah, store front cameras. Right.

With a shrug, Damian got to work breaking down the scene into sections and trying to determine where - if any- clues might be. Using the lines on the street as reference, he found the general area where Acies’ Honda would’ve landed. There was no debris left over; the clean up crew had been thorough. But now that he was looking for it, the scoremarks on the ground from where the vehicle skidded on its roof were very visible.

He knelt down beside the shallow marks and inspected them. There was some paint transfer; Father would want a sample to verify but Damian already knew the silver colored paint flakes belonged to Acies’ silver Honda. They were lucky it hadn’t rained in the two days since the event, though with the cold in the air it’d be more likely to snow than rain.

Damian circled the section -once then twice to make sure- but found no other evidence. So he expanded the search to encompass the sidewalk. There wasn’t much. A curb, some grass, a tree. A quick sweep of the grass provided nothing more than a few cigarette butts and a bunch of leaves. Then on the other side was a curb and sidewalk leading up to a brick wall. The building wasn’t a store, and judging by the small windows and the garage door on the adjacent side, was most likely a storage unit or garage. It was plain brick with a blue mail receptacle in front of it.

Absolutely nothing out of the ordinary.

With nothing to show and a bitterness about it, Damian returned to the Batmobile where Father was already watching security cameras from the few he could find. Apparently none were anywhere near the intersection, but he was hoping to catch sight of the getaway and assault vehicles. Even if it was just a glimpse of the tow trucks, maybe they’d get a logo off the side.

Bruce froze the screen just as the series of vehicles drove past the electronic store up the street. A little blurry, some motion streaking, and the streetlamps did the camera no justice, but that was definitely a white tow truck hauling a large black SUV by its front axle. “No logo on the trucks,” he said, clearly disappointed but too stern to let it come out any less monotone,” Meaning they’re privately owned, freshly painted, or use removeable decals.” He clicked a few frames forward so the black SUV was centered.

“Both SUV’s are generic as can be,” he almost sighed,” Either Chevry Suburbans or GMC Denali’s, I can’t tell. And no plates on any of them.”

‘_These were professionals,’_ Damian frowned, thinking the exact same thing his father was. Whoever took Jacob Acies knew what they were doing and they were _good_ at it. Had to have been, in order to pull off the whole kidnapping in less than five minutes.

“So what’s next?” he asked.

‘Next’ turned out to go back to the beginning; investigate Jacob Acies and find a motive. A young, rookie cop from Philadelphia getting kidnapped because he had bad luck? Not likely. Something like this took time and effort and planning; Jacob was clearly the target. But then again, why would someone want to kidnap a young, rookie cop from Philadelphia and not make any demands?

As they pulled away from Robbinsville and back downtown, Damian stared out the windows at the clouds hanging ever present over Gotham. Something about the whole thing didn’t feel right and the further they drove away, the more he felt like he was missing something. What it was, he didn’t know. All he knew was something was tugging at the back of his head and he kept thinking of that list of Cobblepot's sponsors on Acies’ coffee table.

If only he’d known that if he looked under the blue mail box, next to the empty storage garage, across from where a silver car laid...

...he’d have seen a silver ring with a blindfolded moor.

* * *

**New York City, NY**

Kinley and Jason stared defiantly at each other, one’s hand wrapped tight around the other’s wrist. Fury and confusion swirled in equal parts on Jason’s face while Kinley looked ready to burn the whole world down around her, the rest of them be damned. Her eyes flickered over to the statue he was gesturing at and demanding answers to. Unconsciously, or perhaps on purpose, she tried yanking her arm away from him.

When that failed, her expression morphed into one of surprise. However, her attempt to run only served to piss Jason off more.

“Answer. The. Question,” he said lowly.

“I don’t have to-”

“Just tell me what the hell is going on, Kinley!” Jason roared, causing a few heads to turn their way.

“HE WAS MY FRIEND!” she screamed back in his face,” He was my _friend_ and he stabbed me in the back and burned a motherfucking building down because _he wanted to be the one to take down the great Kinley Fucking Battaglia!”_

At the final word, her _name_, Kinley wrenched her wrist free of Jason’s grip. In the same motion, she reeled back and twisted her body, arm raised and hand fisted. Her eyes were like fire, glaring at the statue of Stephen; both Jason and Roy made alarmed sounds when she aimed a punch straight for the monument. “Kin, no, you’ll break-!”

Her fist stopped an inch from the stone.

“...your hand...” Roy breathed.

Her form was _perfect_ . Entire body poised behind the throw, arm straight and back foot planted, her body a long line of pure power backing up that single punch. All that power, stopped at the moment of execution. It didn’t matter that her left arm was still in a sling, had that hit landed, Roy could tell _something_ would’ve broken. Whether her hand or the stone.

And she had _control_ enough to stop an inch away.

“Kinley?”

Not that she didn’t want to hit the statue. Kinley’s fist trembled, clenched tight as she fought with herself to not follow through. “They were my friends...” her voice was quiet.

A piano note, a peculiar sound, a _tune_, started out of tense silence, emanating from Jason’s jacket. “Whoa hey,” he started patting at his pockets, trying to locate the source of the sound. At the same time, Kinley straightened up and tucked her hand back into her pocket, no doubt still clenched.

**I’ve been out here for a minute**

**Hands clenched as I walked through the fog**

**Blood in the water-**

“Ex, back to me,” Kinley ordered, voice firm.

In retaliation, Ex stayed put even when Jason successfully pulled his phone out. The screen flashed green over and over as the little spirit communicated in the only way he knew how. Ex had something to say and he was going to say it. Jason held his phone aloft, so that Kinley could see that Ex was on his side even as the music continued. “I think Ex is trying to tell me a story,” he said.

**Beautiful mask, pure evil behind the charade**

**I hear the mourning, I hear the cries**

Jason looked furious. “Please...” his voice was hard, his tone pure Red Hood,” Please tell me it’s not about you.”

**If you want me gone**

**You pull the trigger yourself**

**Look me in the eyes**

A tense moment passed, enveloped by Ex’s music, where Kinley and Jason stared hard at each other. Each refusing to budge, refusing to give. Two immovable objects.

**I see who you are**

**You are my enemy**

**My enemy**

**You are my enemy**

Until the sound of metal clashing on metal sounded from her own phone. Even without looking at it, something tightened in Kinley’s face as if she knew what that alert was for. Then she took a deep, bracing breath. “Kinley Hypatia Battaglia: second Matriarch of Omnia Nos,” she told them, her voice harsh and furious,” Do with that what you will.”

Ex started flashing green at a rapid pace, looking almost frantic.

Head held high in defiance, Kinley gave Jason one last glance before turning away. Gave the statue one last look of disgust then started heading down the pathway.

**The Hangman’s at the gallows**

**I’m not afraid of the death in his stare**

‘_This isn’t... it can’t be true,’ _something broke in him, something sharp and cutting in his chest. Something in his scar that bypassed the usual soreness and went straight to-... _‘To feeling like I was just stabbed in the heart,’_ he realized. It wasn’t going away either, no matter how he shrugged his shoulders to try and stretch the muscles over his chest, over his scar.

The timing was no coincidence. Just the thought of thinking that maybe Kinley was lying to him the whole time, that she was just _ using _ him, it caused him physical pain. Or maybe that was Roy stepping forward and slapping him on the back of the head. Ironically in time with the beat just before the chorus started playing again on his phone.

“I told you to not try and drive her off again!” Roy exclaimed with one hand pointing at Kinley’s retreating back. He sounded very frustrated with the both of them. “You two need to talk it out and not scream at each other.”

_ **~such a beautiful face, such a perfect little liar** _ **~ ** whispered in the back of his mind _ **~always knows what to say, always has that knowing look on her face, like she knows something you do not~** _

Jason made no move to do such. “It makes sense though,” he said bitterly,” Why she approached me in the train station. Why she always texted back, wanted to keep a line of communication open, wanted to _ keep track of me _.”

_ **~She didn’t want you to go back to Gotham. Fought you every step of the way~** _

“Why she always insisted I never knew who she really was. Why she won’t tell me anything even now. _Why she moved to Gotham in the first place._” His teeth were clenching -in anger or pain, not even he could tell- as he turned to Roy,” Why she would never tell me what it is she does. Why Tim stayed the hell away from her.”

_ **~Tim knew. Tim always knows. He found the truth and he found her to be a ** _ _ **threat** _ _ **~** _

“He probably only went back so he could keep an eye on her, get intel before-”

**This ends now**, the phone continued to play.

Then Roy punched him in the face.

“Snap out of it, Jay!”

It threw him off balance, made him take a step back. Roy didn’t let up, hitting him a second time right on the jaw. “Kinley’s not the threat!” He was pulling his punches. Had Roy wanted to cause damage, he _ wo _ _ uld’ve _. “She’s the target!” He hit him in the chest next, just below the clavicle.

“She literally just told you!” Roy was obviously trying to hit a point home, literally if need be. Even as Jason stepped back out of his reach, Roy continued to glare at him and gestured with his whole arm to the statue. “Her own friend tried to kill her and she’s terrified of you doing the same!”

** This ends now **...

That was it.

Like a needle popping a balloon, something sharp pricked in Jason’s chest and all of a sudden everything became... clearer. He blinked the blurriness away from his vision; when did his eyes become so unfocused? He could breathe, sucking in a deep breath and that’s when he realized he’d been shallowly hyperventilating.

Then the realization set in.

* * *

How the hell could one woman disappear so quick? It was one minute, two tops, before Jason came to his senses. But when they turned around in the direction she went, she’d vanished entirely. Not even a hint of her dark hair and beige coat. “You go that way, I go this way,” Jason said, tucking his comm into his ear.

“**Roger that,”** Roy confirmed, already heading off while putting his own comm in, **” And Jay?”**

“Yeah yeah, I already know,” he grumbled,” I’m an asshole.”

“**Actually wasn’t gonna say that. What I was ** _ **going** _ ** to say was, she’s just like you.”**

“What do you mean?” Jason asked. He glanced at a gaggle of students sitting at the edge of a decommissioned fountain, but none of them resembled Kinley.

“**She got scared. And when she got scared, she got mean and said things she knew would hurt you and make you hate her.”**

“Yeah, but I don’t-” he paused to watch a woman enter a building (no, the coat was right but that person had dark red hair, not brown),” Wait, what do you mean ‘scared’? And how do you know she’s scared?”

“**Why else would she return to the school where her friend ** **tried to** ** killed her? Something else scares her more.” **

It was a sobering concept. The thought that something scared the infallible Kinley enough to not only return to a place she hated, but to actively sabotage their friendship, made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

Jason continued on towards the exit. From what Calvin told them, it didn’t sound like Kinley got what she came here for so she most likely would be aiming to leave for her next destination. Since they didn’t know where that was, his only hope was to catch her before she made the gate. “How about instead, you tell me what’s up with Omnia Nos and what she meant by Second Matriarch,” he prompted.

There was a moment before Roy responded. **“I suppose the cat’s kinda out of the bag, isn’t it?” ** he sighed, **” Alright, let’s start with Omnia Nos. Ever heard of it?”**

Other than the motto _omnia nos, auxilio aliis,_ no Jason never heard of it and he said just as much. **“****Omnia Nos is the founding organization, but you might be more familiar with Auxiliorum Incorporated.”**

The name did sound familiar to Jason. It was a massive European holding company, with a lot of telecommunication and energy companies underneath it. Auxiliorum played a huge part in the Renewable Energy Directive; got a lot of heat for it too. A corporation with dozens of renewable energy contracts pushing for mandatory renewable energy percentages? Yeah, that earned them a lot of enemies, specifically from the non-renewable companies.

“If Kinley’s the heir to Auxiliorum, she’s got to have at least a dozen people after her in half a dozen countries,” he realized, his feet stuttering to a stop. Jason stood just at the campus exit, eyes wide as the puzzle pieces starting coming together. God, big oil companies alone would be baying for blood, and if Kinley was in their sights... Espionage, assassins, and straight up hit contracts wouldn’t be too far for those kind of guys.

“Actually, my brothers are set to take over Auxiliorum when my aunt retires,” a voice spoke behind him,” It’s Omnia Nos and Corsica that I’m responsible for.”

Jason spun on the balls of his feet, flabbergasted to see Kinley standing right there as if she’d never marched off. There was a grim look on her face but a determined look in her eyes. Jason could only stare at her, mouth opening but no words coming out. “I’m going to ask you this only once and I will never repeat it,” she began.

“Kinley, I am so sor-” he started.

“Picture the thing you want most in this world,” she cut him off, firm and commanding and Jason had no choice but to listen,” What’s the one thing you desire more than anything? The unconditional love of your family?”

He remembered big, warm hugs as a kid, the smell of Bruce’s aftershave strong even in memory. He remembered bright, wide smiles and proud blue eyes as Dick gladly called him little brother. He remembered comforting pats on top of his head as Alfred told him job well done.

“The person who’s hurt you most in your life: what if they paid for it tenfold?”

He imagined Joker’s head rolling on the floor, bloody and dark and _lifeless_. He imagined newspapers splashed with ‘JOKER DEAD! GOTHAM FINALLY SAFE!’ He imagined being able to sleep a full night without a single nightmare. He imagined not having to always walk with his head angled so he could always see behind him.

“A second chance to make everything right?”

He wondered what it’d be like to return home to Gotham. He wondered what it’d be like to walk right into Wayne Manor and stay for a meal before going on patrol with the others. He wondered what it’d be like to walk into the Batcave and not see that memorial, as if it was never there.

“If all you had to do was walk away, pretend you never met me, would you do it?”

Walk away? Pretend he never met her? Jason couldn’t even imagine what a world like that would be like. He couldn’t imagine not meeting a girl in a train station who cared enough to ask if he was okay. He couldn’t remember a world where the sound of a dinosaur screeching didn’t put a smile on his face. He wondered if he could watch a sunset over the city skyline and not want to take a picture just to show her later.

There was a small humming sound next to his ear, a wordless tune by a tiny green spirit floating in the air. “Is that you making an offer?” he had to know.

“Not from me, but one day someone will give you that offer.”

That was good enough for him.

Jason stalked forward, fire in his eyes and in his heart and a determination to prove that he was not like those that came before him. She stood still, for once staying and waiting for him. Despite her earlier words and threats, despite the apprehension he still felt, despite the lies and the secrets he knew they would both have to keep... every step closer to her felt like a piece of him was stitching itself back together.

When he was close enough, one of Jason’s hands wound itself into her hair and cupped the back of her head, tilting her back just slightly so he could stare into her eyes. Those deep, fathomless eyes of gold and brown, warm enough to be a soft suede blanket in the coldest of winters. Those eyes filled with wariness and a burgeoning hope. Kinley sucked in a breath but didn’t say anything as Jason held her.

“My answer will always be the same,” he said,” And that’s a great big, ‘Fuck no’.”

His lips crashed into hers with all the gentleness of a wave crashing on the shore. Fierce and passionate, then pulling slightly back in worry because he hadn’t exactly_ asked_ her first, but then like the tide she chased him back. She kissed him _back_ and it was all Jason had imagined and_ mo__re._ Her lips weren’t soft, but chapped, and that made it all the more real to him.

A hand crept up and gripped the back of his neck, holding him close. He reached up with his other and tilted her chin so he could claim her more thoroughly. A gasping hiccup sounded in her throat when he pulled away to say,” You will always have me.”

Then a sweet peck. “And I can’t be scared off,” he added._ ‘More like too stubborn,’_ but for the first time it was a thought that maybe just once, maybe too much stubborness was a good thing.

God knew he had more than enough of it.

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Kinley challenged him. Her eyes sparked with that fire, even if her lips parted in deep breaths. Now that he knew what they tasted like, Jason thought he’d never tire of kissing them.

“Watch me,” he challenged right back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up:  
Officer Peterson makes a quick visit to a man with an assignment and Elijah and Javier make a harrowing discovery.


	56. The Man in Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why couldn't it ever be simple?

The morgue at Gotham Health was chilled as always, cool not because it was in the basement but because of the necessity of the department’s duties. Another interesting thing about the morgue was that noise bounced off the walls and tile floors much easier than they would’ve on other floors. One didn’t even have to be in the room to hear what was being said.

“Why didn’t he _call_ me?” Detective Peterson’s voice wasn’t exactly quiet; he had no way of knowing a certain shadow was just down the hallway.

Dr. Acies’ voice followed soon after,” He _did_.”

There was a grunt of frustration and the sound of papers shuffling. “On what day? The last time I talked to him was the day he got assignment and it had nothing to do with-” Peterson growled in frustration again,” Are you _sure_ he said he talked to me?”

“Positive,” Dr. Acies said succinctly,” He told me you said you had it under control and it was being assigned to someone else.”

“_Bullshit_! That assignment is _mine_ and I never would’ve told him I was giving it to someone else!”

“Well that’s what he said.”  
“Then he sure as hell didn’t hear it from me!”

“_Then the question is_**,”** Batman entered the small office and stood just out of the shadow in the doorway,” _Who did he hear it from?”_

“Freez- god_damn_ you!” For the second time tonight, Detective Peterson pulled a gun on Batman only to quickly redirect to the ceiling. “One of these days, you’re really going to get yourself shot,” he bitched at him as he re-holstered,” I can see why the Commissioner hates it when you do that...”

‘_His mood is significantly worse than it was earlier,’_ Bruce noted,_’ What exactly has he learned since?’_

Behind Detective Peterson, Dr. Alviero Acies was sitting at his desk and trying to gather up the papers Peterson had thrown down in his surprise. Phone records, it looked like. How Peterson got them so quickly, Batman would very much like to know.

“Alviero Acies,” he instead addressed the M.E., the one he came here for,” You were the last phone call Jacob made before he disappeared.” The doctor did not seem all that surprised to see Batman in his office and instead waved for him to approach.

“So I’ve been told,” he said once Batman stepped forward, even holding up the phone records for him to see,” As I told Detective Peterson, Jacob called me Thursday night to follow up on a case. Roxanne Buchord, a homicide from Robbinsville.”

Bruce did not know of this case, and frowned at the thought that there was a homicide case he was not working on. Making a mental note to look into it later -or see if one of his kids was already working the case- he pushed on.

“And this ‘assignment’ you were talking about before?” he asked.

The two men exchanged glances and hmmm… Batman narrowed his eyes discreetly but didn’t say anything. What could that look have meant?

Finally, Peterson was the one who spoke up,” Police corruption.”

‘_Well then… wasn’t expecting an actual policeman to say that.’_

Alviero was the one to explain,” A few weeks ago, Jacob called me about some concerns he had. He’d noticed some… inconsistencies.”

“What kind of inconsistencies?”

Once again, there was that exchange of looks between the two men. It was a look that spoke of years of knowing each other, of a familiarity there that Batman didn’t know existed between the two. He tilted his head in warning as he addressed Dr. Acies again,” You related to Jacob Acies, Doctor?”

A reproving glance. “Why bother asking when you already know? First cousin removed once; he’s my cousin Tara’s boy.” Tara Acies, died nine years past from bone cancer. Bruce knew it from the background check he ran on Jacob earlier tonight, to see if he had any other family in the area. Other than the distant cousins with him in the force, there was a few others in the city. More specifically, in the fire department. And the cousin sitting before him in forensics.

“So let me sum this up: when his concerns were brushed off by Detective Peterson, he called you,” he reiterated.

“Jacob never came to me about any corruption he found!” Chris slammed his hands on the desk. “If he had, you can rest assured I would’ve taken him seriously and we would take care of it together! I sure as hell would never have passed something as important as this on to someone else!”

“Because it’s your assignment?”

“Because I wouldn’t risk him being right and then doing nothing about it! If he found a dirty cop and it wasn’t taken care of right away, then he would-”

Chris cut off with a horrified gasp and wide eyes. _ ‘ _ _ Then Jacob Acies would become a target,’ _ they all thought. With a renewed urgency, he rounded on Alviero and demanded,” When did he say he talked to me? Did he say he talk to me in person, or did he say he just called me?”

“Call,” Alviero breathed out,” He said he called and spoke to you on the phone, that you didn’t sound concerned at all. He was rather pissed off actually, thought you were treating him like a child.”

“It wasn’t me!” Chris exclaimed, picking up the phone records and shook them in front of Alviero’s face,” His call was intercepted, Alvy, now tell me: _ when _ did he make that call?”

“L-Last week, maybe around Thursday?”

Giving them plenty of time to plan his abduction.

“Did he say who?” Batman pressed,” Who did he suspect?”

“He didn’t say, but he said his partner had a lead and they would investigate-” Alviero never got to finish what he was saying as both Batman and Chris Peterson ran out of his office. “I’d say I’ll call you later, but I take it that’s not an option right now?!” he shouted after them, however it fell on deaf ears.

Detective Peterson kept up with Batman, pace for pace, as they raced away from Dr. Acies’ office. A feat that would’ve impressed Bruce if he weren’t so focused on finding their lost officer. “Tim Lottare,” Chris panted out as they ran,” He’s Jacob’s partner, he-” he paused as he slammed full body into the stairwell door, crashing it open,” -never mentioned anything about investigating corrupt cops.” Batman flew up the stairs, Chris close on his heels.

“The same partner who didn’t report him missing until two days later?” If there was any bitterness in Batman’s voice, he chose to ignore it for the moment.

“Damn piece of shit!” Chris swore vehemently and followed him out into the first floor lobby. Outside the front glass doors, his cruiser could be seen parked right at the front steps. There was no sign of the Batmobile, but he didn’t doubt it wasn’t hidden somewhere nearby. He pulled out his phone and pressed speed dial as he ran.

Commissioner Gordon picked up on the first ring. “What do you got for me, Peterson?”

“Tim Lottare!” he nearly yelled, both from the urgency and from still being in a full run,” Jacob’s partner! I’ll explain later, but we gotta find him _ no _ _ w _!”

It was one hell of an explanation and not much of one at all, but Gordon trusted him. “He’s on leave,” he answered and rattled off Tim Lottare’s home address,” I’ll put out an APB on him and his car. Peterson, do _ not _ go in without backup!”

The warning was loud and clear in his ear, but there was a grin on his face as he glanced over at Batman. The Batmobile came screeching around the corner to skid to a halt in front of him. “No worries, Commish,” Chris reassured,” I’m pretty sure the backup’s going to get there before me.”

Just at that moment, his radio blared to life. **“All units report! Breakout at Blackgate! I repeat, all units report! Breakout at Blackgate!”**

Christ swore colorfully and snapped his phone shut. Blackgate was the opposite direction of Tim Lottare’s address, and this wasn’t exactly something he could ignore. But this was _Jacob Acies_ _ **, ** _ and the first real lead they’ve had all night.

Batman could see how Chris was torn between which way to go. It was hard to miss when the GCPD detective stood in front of his open car door, muttering curses under his breath and hitting the roof of his car. Before getting into his own vehicle, Batman paused and said,” Go to Blackgate, I’ll get Lottare.” Then the door slammed shut and the long, black car sped off into the night.

‘_ Not if we get him first,’ _ Chris grimaced and opened his phone again.

“Christopher, PTR-071,” he spoke and waited just a moment for it to connect,” I want every Gotham based agent on the lookout for a police officer, Tim Lottare.”

* * *

“**-all units report! Breakout at Blackgate!”**

The scanner crackled lively in the corner of the dim bar, the only sound in the hushed room as hands scrambled to turn off any other TV or jukebox. A handful of people listened with bated breath, their eyes staring at the corner where they knew the scanner hid behind a fake potted fern.

“**470, reporting in,”** a new voice echoed almost immediately after,**” Located at 145th and 7th, inbound to Blackgate.”**

“**297, reporting in...”** and just like that, a cascade of voices answered the call, one following after the other, as Gotham’s finest simultaneously sped towards the south end of the city.

“Alright, you all know the drill,” Stan called over the otherwise silence of The CASKet, and as the largest man in the room he easily commanded the attention of everyone in the room,” Anyone planning on heading home tonight, now’s your chance or else you’re locked in here with the rest of us.”

There were a few murmured assents, of voices stating that they were gonna hunker down at home or go check on their families. One particularly grizzled biker ushered them out the door with words of wished luck and threats of coming after their asses if they didn’t check back in tomorrow. In contrast, three men followed Stan into the back of the bar while Coco ushered the rest into moving tables and chairs out of the way.

At the front door, only one man remained standing as if uncertain on whether to stay or go. He stood motionless, hunched over his phone and frowning something fierce. “Calculating the risks of making it home before shit hits the fan?” Coco asked and stepped up beside him.

Dimitri swore in Russian before snapping his phone shut. When he spoke, she couldn’t tell if he was frustrated or frightened,” I can’t go home. Red texted me earlier that it’s not safe and honestly if he thinks it’s too dangerous then fuck if I’m going to risk it.”

“Red Robin?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Yes, Red Robin,” he growled back.

Whatever Coco was about to say back was lost as a clanging sound caught their attention. Stan and the three men returned from the back, carrying three large, heavy trellises of metal. The fourth man held an impact drill and a bag of bolts. “What are they doing?” Dimitri asked, watching as the men worked to heft one trellis up against the front window.

“Securing the building,” Coco answered,” The gates fit over the windows and door; you see the metal plates and rods sticking out around the edges? Stan and them fit the gates over and bolt them on, so nothin’ gets in or out. We’re on lockdown for the night.”

Dimitri blanched. “Does it really get that bad around here?” he asked,” The breakout’s on the opposite end of the city.”

As the sounds of the impact drill filled the room, she replied,” That’s the point, Sour. All the cops and Bats are on the other side of the city, dealing with the breakout. Tonight’s a free-for-all and every madman and asshole in Crime Alley’s gonna take advantage of that.” He had nothing to say to that, but Coco thought he looked a little green around the edges as he watched Stan and the men secure the second window.

God, sometimes she hated the man and thought him a grade A asshole and wet blanket, but Dimitri had the kind of face that looked like a kicked puppy when he was worried. And she wasn’t a complete monster. “Do you think I can make it to Kinley’s before-” he started asking before she grabbed his elbow and all but hauled him back to the bar.

“She’s not home and you know that,” she talked over his complaints and pushed him down into a chair,” You’re staying here with us. Now sit here and don’t make a fuss or I’ll tell Diamond you’ve got Red Robin’s phone number.”

Dimitri shut his mouth with a clack.

“That’s what I thought.”

* * *

Bruce stood in the entry way of Tim Lottare’s apartment and felt a bitter taste on his tongue. The address was Lottare’s, he even checked it on the way here against his tax records and employment papers with the GCPD. This was Tim Lottare’s residence, only…

...nobody lived here.

The single bedroom apartment was bare from the ceiling to the floor, with no break in the dust.

‘_ Jacob Acies must’ve uncovered something bigger than police corruption,’ _ he thought without a frown, _ ’ It’s unlikely the two are unconnected. But how did he not suspect his own partner?’ _ It would have to be investigated at length, but later. For now he had to focus all his energy on finding the missing man.

He left the apartment, walking briskly back to the Batmobile, and radioed Damian. “Robin, I’m on my way back to you,” he spoke,” Did you find anything new?”

“** You were right about the hidden case files,” ** came Damian’s reply, ** ” I found them taped to the bottom of a kitchen drawer.” **

“Anything in there about corruption in the police force or his partner, Tim Lottare?”

“** No. These case files are ancient. I found one that dates back from 1978. A family found dead at a farm just across the river; it was ruled accidental from lead poisoning in the well supply.” **

It… didn’t make sense. It didn’t make any sense at all. If Jacob was investigating police corruption, then why did he have hidden case files from decades ago? Why even look into such things? “Grab them all,” he instructed Damian,” I’m on my way to pick you up.”

“**Any luck at the Lottare address?”**

Bruce closed his eyes for just a second as he seated himself back in the Batmobile, taking a deep breath and pushing down the frustration. Every time he thought he had a lead in this case, it takes a baffling turn. “The apartment was a cover,” he finally said,” The place is empty and I suspect it has been for years.”

There was a tell-tale silence on the other end.

“Robin, have something to add?”

“** You know what this sounds like, don’t you, Father? There was a sleeper agent in the GCPD…” **

Yes, Bruce knew what this reminded him off. And while there was a certain chill that ran down his spine, there were enough differences that his gut was telling it was something else. “We don’t know for sure who Lottare’s working for,” he reminded his son,” It might not be the Court of Owls.”

“** We won’t know for sure until he catch Lottare, if that’s even his real name,” ** Damian’s voice was harsh and almost sneering, but there was still enough of a tightness there for Bruce to hear the worry in his tone.

“And we will,” he promised,” Hang tight, I’ll be there in two minutes.”

* * *

Damian barely scoffed before ending the radio transmission. As he waited for Father to come pick him up, he stared at the case files he’d found. Old, case files, closed decades ago. Why was Acies looking in to them? The farm tragedy was only one of many, other’s spread out across the 80’s and 90’s. Curiously, he flipped through them.

A fire at a construction site that claimed the lives of four workers, right where Amusement Park now laid.

A case where a man had a mental breakdown and went on a killing spree in a mall, shouting in ancient tongues before he was shot down.

A car crash that killed a Mr. and Mrs. Shukis, their only child going missing.

A string of accidents at a museum, first credited to a curse on one of the artifacts -a black jeweled necklace- before said artifact was stolen.

With a sigh, he tucked the case files back into a pile. None of them made any sense right now. Instead, he worried more about the implications of a sleeper agent in GCPD. How many more were there? Could they be part of the Court of Owls, or even the League of Assassins, or was there another? The not knowing put him on edge.

One minute ten seconds until Batman got here. That was enough time. Damian sat on the couch and pulled out his cell phone. He stared at the screen for only a second, his thumb hesitating briefly before he pushed the dial button.

Dick answered on the first ring. ** “Hey Dami, what’s up?” **

Damian let out a sigh of relief so quiet it couldn’t be heard on the other end. “Just checking in,” he said,” You did not answer my text earlier.”

“** The one with a picture of a fluffy black dog?” ** Dick sounded tired, but still amused, ** ” Sorry, didn’t realize I needed to send a text back. Why? Y ou’re not thinking of getting another dog, are you?” **

“No. But you still should’ve texted back,” he grumbled.

There was a long pause on the other line, then Dick’s voice came in a little clearer. **“Damian, what’s wrong?”**

* * *

It was nights like this that Eli was glad their hideout was away from the main streets. Nothing more than a garage for a store than long ran out of business. The wild took this place back long ago, probably before he was even born, and covered it with vines and dust and dirt. Nobody came here looking for valuables and even though he could hear glass breaking, it was in the distance.

Even still, he made sure to shove another length of lumber into the dirt and bar the cover to their entrance. The hole in the wall was small anyways but the added security made him feel safer. Or that’s what he told himself, even when he sat up still awake hours after Javier had fallen asleep.

Elijah sat cross-legged on his bundle of blankets masquerading as a bed and stared at the doggy door that served as their front door. It was ‘reinforced’ with plywood and jammed shut with 2x4’s. They lived in a quiet place, he reminded himself, no one comes looting here. They were safe, they were safe, _ they were safe _.

So then why was he sitting up and clenching a crowbar in his hands?

Nearby, Javier snuffled in his sleep and Eli looked over to see the little kid’s hand reaching out of his nest of blankets. Even in his sleep, his little fingers curled around the edge of Eli’s blankets and didn’t let go as he settled back down. A wave of conviction, though he didn’t yet know that word, flooded through Eli and he remembered his promise.

‘_I’ll keep him safe,’_ he promised silently and adjusted his grip,_’ Nobody’s gonna take Javi away.’_

And that’s when he heard it. A car. It was close and by the crunch of gravel, it was driving down the alley they were hiding in. Then it stopped. It _ stopped _ and Eli’s heart jumped into this throat. The car stopped in the alley and he could still hear the idle of the engine but it wasn’t moving and they were _ close _. He held his breath, not daring to make the smallest sound and waited for it to start driving again.

Instead he heard two car doors opening.

Then voices. “This is good a place as any,” someone spoke, a man, and Eli could hear the scrape of gravel as he stepped out of the vehicle.

His knuckles were white from clenching the crowbar so hard.

“Why you gotta have that sour look on your face?” the same man said,” I’m sorry, does the smell of Crime Alley not agree with your delicate Diamond District refinery?” There was the sound of another door opening, but not a normal door. Like… a click and a hiss, a hydraulic sound.

Whoever the first man was talking to, finally responded,” Your talking annoys me.” His voice was low, lower than the first, and with a certain tone of deadness that Eli felt if he could see the man he’d see no emotion on his face.

There was some grunting, the sound of rocks sliding under their shoes, and something heavy hitting the ground. They were unloading something, Elijah realized and prayed to God they weren’t planning on storing whatever it was in their little garage. The chain to the big door was broken, cut off years ago, and the outside handle broken off with a big rock. But the side door was still there, locked only by a key that neither knew where and barred by only a few boxes of stuff. If there was two of them and they had the key, they could probably force their way in.

As the two men moved about outside, talking but he could barely hear them over the rushing in his ears, Elijah gingerly climbed onto a box situated just below the tiny dusty window. There was metal grating across the window, not unusual for Crime Alley, but the holes were big enough for him to look out into the alley.

The first thing he was that it wasn’t a car, it was a truck. A big, black SUV and the rear hatch was open. Whatever they pulled out of it, he couldn’t see. Nor could he see the two men. Until one walked around from the other side, taking off what looked like gloves. He had dark skin, really dark, Eli noticed, only because his face and hands looked nearly black in comparison to the white button up shirt he was wearing. And he was the one with the dead voice.

“Dropping it in the harbor is a waste of a perfectly good car,” he was saying,” It’ll be driven out of Gotham tonight and traded in a dealership up north.” He threw his gloves into the back of the SUV and gently closed the hatch until it locked with a click.

“You fucker, you’ve got another one on stand by already, don’t you?” Then the other man came into sight and Eli’s breath hitched in fear. It was a police officer.

The dark skinned man didn’t say anything, just got into the truck in the driver’s seat. The policeman gave a disgusted sound and walked back around to the passenger side. There was a slam of the car door and the SUV drove away with its headlights off.

Elijah lowered from the window until both feet were once again on the ground. His knees were shaking. _ ‘What… _ _ what was that?’ _ he wondered. He wondered and he didn’t know. They unloaded something and one of them was a cop and Elijah was really really scared they might come back. But they drove off with no headlights, so they didn’t want anyone to know they were here. Maybe they weren’t planning on coming back?

It would depend on whatever they dropped off. If it was something they’d come back for, then Eli and Javi would have to make sure they weren’t here when that happened. But if it was something they didn’t want, then maybe they wouldn’t come back.

He had to know.

As quietly as he could, both because he didn’t want to wake Javi and because he didn’t want anyone _ else _ to hear that might be nearby, Elijah removed the wood barring the doggy door shut. Then he crawled outside with the crowbar still in his hands.

The alley was dark as it always was. No streetlights to be seen here, just the orange glow of the sky. It was just enough light for him to look both ways down the alley and see there was nobody there. Across the way, from where the truck had been parked, was another tiny side alley, leading to the back of the store that once matched with their garage. Seeing nothing else out of the ordinary, he figured whatever they dropped off must be back there.

With a deep breath for courage and a pinched off whimper of fear, Eli held up his weapon and stepped forward. There was no sound other than his breathing, shallow and ragged, he entered the side alley step by slow step, letting his his eyes adjust to the dark. There was nothing here. Or nothing until he came to the end, where three stone steps led up to the back door of the abandoned store.

And on that little stone stoop, the body of a man was laid out.

Had this been another universe, Elijah’s scream would’ve been enough to wake the dead.


End file.
